The Morning After
by Argentina Sugar
Summary: Ever wondered what it was like "the morning after" Olivia and Fitz slept together for the first time in the hotel? Here's my take on what happened and how these two ended up keeping their relationship going. What started out as a quick, six chapter one-shot is now a full-story. Hope you enjoy! :D
1. Double Vision

"Just go in your room and close the door and we'll pretend this never happened."

Fitz was hardly standing close, but Olivia could still feel him behind her. His voice was as palpable as the feeling of his fingers wrapped around her own not even an hour ago. A swooping feeling dropped from her throat and settled at the bottom of her stomach – exciting, exhilarating, and interlaced with halting apprehension. _Just go in and close the door_, she ordered herself. But she didn't move.

"Go in your room," Fitz repeated, but his voice was low and hardly convincing.

Olivia took a slow breath and looked at the gold-ringed keyhole of her hotel room door. She wanted to pinch herself at her own daring. She stood before her own door knowing that she was teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice and that the easy decision – the right decision – was to walk in without a word and close the door behind her. But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted a reason to be okay with not feeling as bad as she should for considering what she was considering. She wanted the blessing of her own permission to go ahead. And ultimately, she wanted to know what it would feel like to finally give in to the all-consuming, magnetic feeling she got when he was near, and to finally turn a blind eye and free-fall. _He has a wife! _Olivia reprimanded herself. _He has a wife…he has a wife…listen to yourself, think of what you would be doing…he has two children, he is running for President, he hired you, he…_. But even those words were failing her; they were losing all of their fight and reason, and they were paling in comparison to the glaring chance right behind her. Olivia looked at her door once more and then suddenly, she was no longer thinking. Instead, she was walking away from her room and down the hall. She didn't have to hear the rolling of Fitz's suitcase to know that he was trailing behind her. The two of them walked in purposeful silence with the unspoken agreement of what would happen next hanging poignantly over their heads. When she reached his door, Olivia stopped and looked behind her. Her heart was beating so fast and so loud that she could hear it in her ears. Fitz swiped the key card, and when the tiny bulb flashed green, he pushed the door open. Olivia walked in first, and took her time nudging her suitcase into the corner. She listened to him close and deadbolt the door behind him, and waited for him to speak. And then she felt him.

His hands found themselves digging into her waist, and then he spun her around to face him, and his lips found hers. In seconds they found their rhythm; he was kissing her and she was kissing him. He pressed Olivia's back up against the wall, and then he pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth. It was an ecstatic and relieving mix of fervor and carnal chaos, and Olivia was trapped in. She ravaged him, relishing in the feel of his hands running over her body. Her longing, fueled by the quickening of her pulse, raced through her body and clouded her mind, sending her hurtling through pitch black tunnel vision. She wanted him, and in that moment, the only thing she knew was the feel of his tongue dancing around hers, the grasp of his hands on her thighs, and his breathing – rapid and labored, and warm against her face. Effortlessly, Fitz picked her up and carried her across the room, and then he dropped her on the night table. To her left, a lamp crashed to the ground in a tangled heap of its own golden wire. Fitz stepped between her thighs and brought his hands up and over her breasts and then under jaw, his mouth never leaving hers. Olivia pushed her hips into him; the growing bulge of his pants rubbed against her, sparking explosive friction. She moaned into his neck and grabbed at the smooth fabric of the shoulders of his jacket. Fitz dropped his hands down to her wrists and then suddenly, he pulled away and stared at her, panting hard; she stared back, pressing her back against the wall, trying to keep still. The two of them were silent for what seemed like too long.

"Take off your clothes," he whispered.

Even if the air hadn't been so still and quiet, Olivia could not have missed the hammering of her heart. She pulled her hair out of its low bun, hardly daring to speak. She unbuttoned her top, slipped it off her arms, and then dropped it to the floor. Tentatively, Olivia eased off the table. For a moment, she wavered on the spot, and then she unzipped her pants and stepped out of them to face Fitz in nothing but her underwear. Standing there, Olivia was acutely aware of her nakedness, but she watched Fitz look down to admire her and she reveled in the desire on his face – slack and focused. He swept her up in a kiss and she wrapped her arms around him, and then just like before, Fitz scooped her up, and a surprised gasp, short and quick with arousal, escaped her mouth. Fitz laid her on the bed, and then gently, he pushed her legs apart and kneeled between them. Olivia wrapped them around his waist and watched as he pulled his shirt up and out of his pants, unveiling the chiseled grooves of a taut stomach. The reality of moments ago was so far gone, and now it was just the two of them. It was just her lying on her back, looking up at him from underneath and running her hand up his chest. And then there was Fitz – digging his knuckles into the bed, trailing his tongue over her neck down to the top of her breasts, and then to her stomach. He stopped at her hip, and unwittingly, Olivia felt herself jerk under the intensity of it all – every muscle in her body tense and waiting. The curls of his hair teased at her hipbone, and then in one staggered breath over the inside of her thighs, Fitz hooked his fingers at top of her panties, and slid them off her hips and down her legs. The cool air of the room brushed over Olivia and she knew this was it. She pressed her legs against Fitz's arms and writhed beneath him, still not trusting herself to speak. Olivia ran her hands up his back and into his hair, letting them knot there. Then unable to stand it any longer, she grabbed at his shoulders, pulled him closer and kissed him hard, feeling herself getting lost, going under, and giving in.

x X x

1:39AM read the hotel's radio alarm clock. Olivia stared at the red numbers for a moment, and then she lay her head back down onto the pillow. Fitz was lying next to her with his wrist nestled perfectly in the curve and dip of her waist. It had been two hours since she first walked into his room and an hour since Fitz had fallen asleep next to her. He was facing her, sound asleep and breathing slowly. He looked peaceful and rested, and Olivia smiled to herself. It was undoubtedly amazing, and more than what she imagined it would have been. Olivia's eyes traveled over the sculpted line of his jaw, up to the subtle hills of lips. She had tried to leave but he had insisted that she stay… _"just stay for one minute,"_ he had whispered…. And so she had nodded and pretended to fall asleep too, but instead, she lay awake feeling a contentedness that was brutally but honestly marred with confusion and hurt. She felt stuck in an impossible place, because in the moment, she forgot that he wasn't hers and that she was falling for someone who couldn't be hers. She had succumbed to the feelings of a man who had captured her own; someone who was not hers to feel anything for. And then it was only a short while later that she realized hat she was brimming with a happiness so fleeting that it would never – could never – last to see daybreak. She watched the clock strike 1:42AM. She wanted to be angry with herself for lying naked under tangled sheets next to a man who was married, and who had a family. But it was futile to pretend that she didn't want more; that she didn't want his hands slipping underneath the her warm back to undo her bra, or that she didn't want his lips hovering above hers and breathing words that sent chills zigzagging up and down her sides…_"you're doing fine"…_. Olivia thought about how easy it would have been if she had hated him. She could have hated him for telling her exactly how he felt, or she could have hated him for not going through with firing her. And maybe, even she was partly to blame for not leaving and for getting to know him and allowing herself get caught in feeling for him. But she knew that that too, was impossible – she knew this man and she could never hate him. She looked at his wrist lazily hanging onto her hip and felt herself flush in the darkness as she remembered his voice on the bus…_"Why didn't I meet you sooner? What kind of a coward was I to marry her and not wait for you to show up?"_ The words swam through her mind and stung at her the more she thought of them, like a dull ache from poking at a mysterious bruise. Beside her, Fitz stirred in his sleep, clearly amidst a dream.

Olivia let out a slow breath and then with what felt like all of her resolve, she moved Fitz's arm off her waist. She got up out of the bed, reached for her clothes on the floor, and dressed quickly. Olivia surveyed the room, looking for remnants of her visit, and then she grabbed her suitcase from its long-forgotten corner and looked over at Fitz. He had since rolled over so that his back was facing her now. She peered out the peephole in the door and through its distorted view, she saw that no one was there. She pulled the door slightly ajar, poked her head out, and then as quickly and quietly as she could, she walked back to her room.

**So Olivia is conflicted…as probably expected when one sleeps with a married man. I've always wondered what happened after this scene and decided to give a shot at writing out what I imagine. It's going to be a six chapter one-shot, so hopefully you guys enjoy. Review below and let me know what you think!**


	2. One Kiss and Boom

As soon as her watch struck 5:05am, Olivia stepped out of her hotel room and headed around the bend of the hallway towards the elevators, purposely not bothering to look behind her. She hadn't slept at all that night, but she was entirely too nervous to feel any difference. The elevator doors chimed open, and Olivia stepped inside and pressed "L", and waited impatiently for the doors to come together, hoping that no one else stepped on with her. She wasn't entirely sure that she was ready to see Fitz after last night…

When she returned to her room from Fitz's, Olivia had taken a long shower. She had let the water run over her skin until it didn't feel warm anymore, and she had allowed herself to ruminate: everything had been unbearably fresh and thinking about it all – his panting in her ears…the incredibly gratifying fullness she felt when he pushed himself inside of her…the tired groans of the mattress springs – made her heart skip half a beat…. She had wondered about Fitz and whether or not he had rolled back over and woken up to find her gone…or whether or not he had woken and regretted the whole thing entirely – a thought that made Olivia's stomach roll with nausea. She had wondered whether she would hear a knock at her door, or the buzz of a phone call. And then of course, she had wondered about Mellie. Mellie, who with her too frequent inclination to interfere and her frighteningly ambitious streak,was still his wife. Mellie, who was in Alabama, blithely unaware that her husband had just laid another woman atop the sheets of his bed. Mellie, who was still very much apart of the campaign, and who's very existence callously reminded Olivia that in essence, she was officially 'the mistress' –reduced to the role of a commonplace cliché in a lazy daytime soap opera. In the shower, Olivia imagined herself: peeking out from behind Fitz's door like a thief,pulling along her suitcase and hurrying down the hall hoping to make it across unnoticed. She had slipped back into her room with her nerves on fire, completely and entirely guilty. She had known what she was doing the entire time, but she did it anyway, and worse – she enjoyed it anyway. In the bathroom of her own room, Olivia had slipped out of her clothes for the second time in less than a few hours, and she craved everything that happened all over again. But as quickly as she found herself relishing in the aftermath of it all, Olivia soon found herself shrouded in a humiliating feeling of self-reproach. And so rather than commit herself to restless sleep, Olivia had shut off the lukewarm water, changed into pajamas,and tried to occupy herself with campaign notes she already knew off the back of her hand. And when her clock finally alarmed at 4:30AM, she had switched into a pair of linen pants and an Oxford top and left.

Once the elevator hit the lobby and its doors sprung apart, Olivia stepped out and headed out to the hotel parking lot. The campaign bus was parked by the entrance with early-rising campaign staffers already bustling about, preparing to leave for the Baptist Church pancake breakfast. A short redhead with a severe bob cut, a new-hire named Jeanine, was running around talking on a cell phone when she spotted Olivia. She pulled the phone away from her ear and gestured towards her.

"Ms. Pope! We have copies of the itinerary ready for you on the bus. We're leaving for the church in forty."

Olivia nodded and started forward, then stopped.

"You know what Jeanine, I think I'm actually going to take a cab to the church," Olivia decided**  
**

Jeanine paused and let confusion register over her face completely.

"But…there's a bus?" she said slowly, as though looking for signs of a trick question. "The campaign staff always rides the bus?"

"I know," Olivia smiled reassuringly, "it's okay, it's fine. I'll be there on time."

Jeanine wavered on the spot for a minute, and then must have decided that it wasn't worth the confusion, because she put the phone back to her mouth and walked away. Keeping her eyes ahead of her, Olivia hurried away from the hotel parking lot and out to the curb, where she hailed down a cab and sent a quick text to Cyrus as the cab sped off down the streets of midtown Atlanta. Olivia looked out the window and wondered what time Fitz got onto the bus, and whether or not he was contemplating her whereabouts. She felt badly and childish for avoiding him but she wasn't sure what to do now that everything between them had been acted upon. She wasn't sure what had or hadn't changed, and that unknown quality of it all unnerved her.

"Ma'am?" The cab driver's voice alerted Olivia back to the present.

She hadn't realized that she was already in front of the church. She paid the driver, got out, and saw a bewildered-looking Cyrus waiting at the church door for her.**  
**

"You took a _cab_?"Cyrus asked incredulously when she reached him,"you actually paid for a cab when we have an entire bus for you?"

"I know, I know. But I had a…personal phone call," Olivia lied.

"Hmm…glad those aren't my tax dollars. You look tired," Cyrus contemplated, sounding worried.

Olivia snorted,"Thank you. I guess that's one nice way of saying I look bad."

"You're welcome. Did you sleep? Is the campaign getting to you?"

"Of course it's not."

"Good. Because that is why I hired you," Cyrus grinned proudly. "They have coffee inside, so get one 'cause it is going to be one long day. I already have him making rounds. He doesn't eat a single pancake until he's talked to every last person worth talking to in here."

"Oh?" Olivia said, hardly listening.

They walked into the church, which was loud with the cacophony of voices. The church was filled with dozens of people of all ages, milling through pews and chatting conversationally. Olivia looked around the entire room once, as she pushed through crowds of people, all the while ignoring the disappointment she felt when she didn't see Fitz. She and Cyrus walked towards the altar, where a large coffee machine sat next to pans upon pans of pancakes, all lined up in a long row. Olivia emptied a generous helping of cream into her coffee and stirred absentmindedly.

"Is he here?" Olivia asked Cyrus worriedly, unable to help herself.

"Well if he's not, then we have a problem," Cyrus said, mouth full of pancake. "Ah, there he is – talking to that middle-aged mother of two…and a Sally voter by the look of her. I don't know. What do you think? Does she look pro-Sally to you?"

Olivia looked up and saw Fitz, standing a few yards away from them and talking to a petite blonde. He was laughing with her about something – _some joke he probably told,_ Olivia thought fondly to herself – and his hand rested genially on her shoulder. Olivia stood and watched him,feeling herself getting caught again in impossible adoration. Fitz shook the woman's hand and as she walked away, he looked up and caught Olivia's eye. Immediately, Olivia looked away and felt her face grow warm. She turned back to Cyrus, who was watching Fitz with hawk-like concentration.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Olivia asked Cyrus."

"Eh, forget it," Cyrus waved a hand impatiently.

Olivia stared into the camel-colored depths of her coffee and spun her watch around her wrist, nervously. She looked up just in time to see Fitz striding over to them.

"Cyrus! Liv!" Fitz shouted out.

Olivia looked away, trying to find something to distract her from his approach and the panicky feeling that had just taken over. To her left, she spotted Jeanine again, walking by.

"Look at this turn out," Fitz gestured around him happily, once he had reached them.

"You look good out there," Cyrus answered.

"And you know what? I feel good," Fitz turned to Olivia, "Liv. Good morning."

There was subtle lilt and purposeful smoothness to his words, and it struck Olivia like tiny, hot pins and needles. Cyrus continued on with his pancakes, hardly noticing a thing. Olivia smiled back and dropped her eyes to his shoulders – he was wearing the very same jacket from the night before.

"Cyrus," Olivia cleared her throat pointedly,"I promised Jeanine that I would review numbers with her today during the breakfast."

"You did?" Cyrus pondered.

"I did," Olivia lied.**  
**

Out of her the corner of her eye, she saw Fitz watching her intently. But right now, she couldn't be around Fitz. Even with Cyrus around – who for all she knew might walk away at any moment and leave the two of them alone – Olivia was unsure of what to say or how to behave. And in the church amidst complete strangers, standing next to Fitz left Olivia feeling exposed and nervous. She knew it couldn't be that obvious, but she felt as though everything was written all over her face, folded into her hair and her clothes.

"Whatever," Cyrus replied nonchalantly.

Olivia turned on her heel and walked away towards an unsuspecting Jeanine; the heat of Fitz's gaze stuck with her uncomfortably.

For the rest of the pancake breakfast, Olivia hovered by Jeanine, giving her orders she didn't really need to give, and instructing her on things she didn't really need to teach. But as far as she was concerned, the further away from Fitz she was the better. And so she made sure that she was never standing alone, lest he notice, and then just as Cyrus had hoped, at 6:45AM exactly, the campaign bus jumped to life again, and everyone was being rounded back up. Olivia told a confused Cyrus that she insisted on taking another cab back, and as the campaign bus drove off, Olivia waited by the church for another taxi. She couldn't sit on the bus with him. Fitz was quickly becoming her undoing and she was unfortunately finding herself wholly unprepared. When she returned to the hotel, Olivia walked through the hotel's revolving door and picked up a copy of both _The Albany Herald_ and _Politico_. She was ambling absentmindedly towards the elevators, scanning the front page of _The Albany Herald_, when she heard someone call out her name.

"Liv!"

Olivia looked up and froze. Mellie was walking towards her from the revolving door with a single leather suitcase in tow. She was grinning broadly.

"Mellie? I thought you were in Alabama getting away from the uh…stress?" she asked delicately when Mellie reached her.

"I was. It's just…I had to leave a day early. A miscarriage is a real, tragic loss Olivia – don't get me wrong – but, what I really needed was to get back on track and get my mind focused and away from negative thoughts."**  
**

"Right, of course. That's good,"Olivia answered lamely, unable to come up with anything else to say.

"So? How has everything been going?"

"Great. We have kept up really great momentum," Olivia insisted, a little too cheerfully. She hoped that Mellie hadn't noticed the hesitancy and nervousness in her voice.

"I'm glad. I am telling you Olivia, you leave this campaign for two days and it's like you miss the whole election. I called Fitz all evening yesterday to see what was going on because it was impossible for me to keep track of numbers over there, and he was just _so_ unhelpful."

Olivia forced herself to keep her eyes on Mellie.

"Everyone is a little stressed out," she finally blurted out.

"I know," Mellie sighed, "but he needs to get it together. _We_ need to get it together," she paused. "I am truly glad that you are here though, and I really thank you for taking the time out away from your normal work life to devote yourself to this craziness. We were drowning for a while, as I'm sure Cyrus told you, and you came along and you brought us back. I don't know what it is that you've been saying to Fitz, or what it is that you've been putting in his cereal every morning but it has been working, and I am grateful for it."

"Mellie, you honestly are giving me way too much credit,"Olivia muttered.

"I don't think so," Mellie beamed,"Well…I'll let you go and do whatever it is that you need to do. I just need to get my room key. I'm sure Fitz already has one and I probably won't need it, but I just like to have my own for incidentals, know what I mean?"**  
**

"Right, of course. I'll see you later," Olivia replied awkwardly.

Mellie nodded and before she could squeeze in one last parting word, Olivia walked away briskly and waited at the elevators, pressing '3' many more times than she probably should have.

x X x

For the rest of the day, Olivia avoided Fitz with earnest. She made sure to stay far from his schedule, opting to busy herself with things that didn't require being around him. She spent most of the day with campaign staffers, communicated with Cyrus through text messages and phone calls, and ate lunch alone in the hotel restaurant. And now that Mellie had returned a day earlier than anticipated, she avoided her too. It proved nearly impossible to be in the same room as her without worrying that she was eyeing her suspiciously; somehow sensing something had gone awry in her absence. By eight in the evening, much of the campaign was exhausted. The sky had darkened hours ago, and everyone had returned to their rooms,apart from Olivia and Jeanine, who stayed behind in the hotel's reception room.**  
**

"Forward me the thread about his morning interview next month. We're probably going to have to cancel that…. And then I need the spreadsheet printout of all his sources of incoming donations. Make sure it has the names all of the donating organizations and or individuals, the name on the check, and the check number," Olivia instructed Jeanine.

Jeanine clicked away at her laptop's mouse and let out a yawn.

"Jeanine?" Olivia prompted.**  
**

"Yes?"

"What time did you get up this morning?"

"Four twenty-five, Ms. Pope."

"Jeanine?"

"Yes?"

"Go back to your room and get some sleep."

Jeanine flashed Olivia a relieved smile, packed up her things and left the reception room. Alone, Olivia stayed behind to catch up on work for the next day. She hadn't realized that an hour had passed until she threw an accidental glance at the wall clock. She powered down the laptop, gathered her purse, locked the reception room door behind her and walked down the hall. In the quiet and still night hours of the hallway, Olivia let her mind wander. It was hardly late in the night, but Fitz was more than likely one floor above her, lying in that same bed with Mellie sitting next to him in the way that only she was allowed to. Olivia's stomach clenched uncomfortably, not with jealousy, but with an aching sadness. She pushed the thought out of her mind, and rounded the corner to the elevators. And then she saw him. He was walking towards her, but his head was down, and so she saw him first. Somehow, she remained rooted to the spot and it was only a matter of seconds before Fitz looked up.

"Olivia?" he called out, surprised.

Olivia took a deep breath. She wanted to turn back, and perhaps feign forgetting some important item, but she knew that he would only follow her to wherever it is that she went. So instead, Olivia kept walking towards him, half-heartedly hoping that he would let her walk by without a fuss. But there was no such luck. Fitz caught her gently at the crook of her elbow and pulled her inside of a small closet with a plastic plaque – SUPPLY: JANITORIAL STAFF ONLY – plastered to its door. He locked the door behind him and then turned to face her. For a minute, he didn't say anything and instead, cocked his head to the side and gazed at her curiously. Olivia stood still. She had spent all day steering clear of him and now, she couldn't help but notice that he had taken off his jacket from earlier…and that his tie was looser and his shirt was rumpled around the waist; the topmost of its white buttons hung freely unbuttoned – he looked appropriately disheveled and frustratingly handsome. She brought her eyes back up to his.

"Do you need something?" she prompted.

"So what time did you leave this morning?" Fitz demanded, ignoring her question. "Because obviously you left, right? You weren't kidnapped? You know that if you didn't want to stay longer, you could have just woken me up? I would have walked you to your door."

For a fleeting moment, Olivia imagined the scene and then squashed it.

"That would have been unnecessary," she responded flatly.

"So you leave without saying anything…." Fitz began, holding up his index finger.

"I told you that it –,"

"And you've been avoiding me all day," Fitz interjected, putting up a second finger.

Olivia felt a warm flush creep over her cheeks, "I was…I haven't…. I'm not avoiding you, I'm just busy."

"Right…exactly. Because it makes sense to call a cab for a personal phone call to _and_ from the church when there are about fifteen empty seats in the back of a free bus. And I know that pancake breakfasts are incredibly stressful what with the pancake selection and syrup distribution and all that. You missed the pizza luncheon in the conference room by the way, so I ended up saving two slices for nothing. Oh, and now _suddenly_, Jeanine is just the most interesting person on the planet," Fitz was smiling.

Olivia fixed her eyes on a yellow mop bucket in the corner. She didn't want to have this conversation. Even from his stance by the door, Fitz was entirely too close. It scared her - the surge of relief she felt,when she saw him smiling and realized that he wasn't angry. She didn't care to admit how many times she had worried that perhaps he too was avoiding her.

"It's been a very long day. I have a schedule I need to keep to and I'm tired, so I _really_ don't have the time to talk to you," Olivia said.

Her words came out harsher than she had intended them to be, and even though she too felt their sting, she made a move for the door, but Fitz stepped in front of her before she could even take another step. He eyed her curiously, clearly confused by her tone, which was unmistakably bitter and accusatory.

"Liv…I'm kidding, I'm not mad that you left. What's wrong with you? Are you okay?" He asked.

Olivia glared at him, feeling a surprising bout of anger flare up inside of her – whether at him or herself, she didn't know. All she knew was that she had to get out of that closet; she didn't trust herself in it.

"Do you see what is happening? Us? Right now? We are standing in a closet whispering. This is _unprofessional_ and inappropriate. And last night was…" Olivia paused as she grappled for words, "I don't even know what that was."

"That was us," Fitz said, leaning against the door and pulling at the neck of his tie. "That was you, and that was me finally getting to be with the person I should have been with all this time."**  
**

Olivia felt the familiar swooping sensation in the middle of her abdomen, and she shifted her attention to a lone bottle of orange cleaning fluid by his feet. _Why do you have to do this?_ She mentally asked Fitz. _Why did you have to pull me in here and say all these things to me?_ She had spent the day successfully averting him, and now she was standing alone with him in a locked closet, surrounded by chemicals and a partially unbuttoned shirt, and hating that she was half-hoping that someone wouldn't jiggle the doorknob and interrupt them.

"It can't happen," Olivia proclaimed, crossing her arms in front of her chest resolutely.

Fitz regarded her crossed arms for a moment and then stepped closer, challenging her space.

"And why not?" he asked, sounding amused.

"I'm being serious."

"Me too. So enlighten me."

Olivia rolled her eyes and let out a sarcastic laugh, "What reason off the gigantic list do you want first? The fact that you're running for the highest office in the nation? Or the fact that you're married, and that you took a _vow_ and an _oath_ to someone?"**  
**

"That's not real and you out of all people should know that. You came on this campaign and the very first thing you did was point that out and try to fix it. My marriage was dead long before you came."

Olivia's mouth fell open.

"I cannot believe you are actually trying to reason with me. This is pure black and white; this is strictly the wrong side of right and wrong. There was a very bold, obvious line and we crossed it; _I _crossed it," she insisted.

"Says who? It couldn't have been me you heard that from because this isn't wrong, and it never has been," Fitz responded simply.

"This morning, I had one of the many future conversations I will have with your _wife_ and she thanked me, okay? So yes, this _is_ wrong and I can't do it."

Fitz was quiet for a moment. His expression softened with concern as he studied Olivia's face.

**"**I'm sorry," he breathed, "Really. I had no idea that she would be here today, honestly. She surprised me too. I know what you're thinking, and I can imagine how you feel, but that doesn't mean that we –,"

"This is not about Mellie coming back a day early," Olivia interrupted.

"So then what is it about?"

"You…_cheated_," Olivia whispered, feeling unnaturally cold chills prickle over her skin, flaring up goose bumps despite the warmth of the closet.

"I am in love with you," Fitz said quietly, taking her arms and uncrossing them. He held her at her wrists and Olivia was a reminded of the night before.**  
**

Had she not been standing unnaturally still in a janitorial supply closet, Olivia might have thought she had slipped down a flight of stairs. Her stomach dropped a thousand feet to the floor. She stared at Fitz, shocked. She had heard those words before – spoken loud and clear into a microphone in South Carolina – but never to her. Olivia swallowed and stilled, trying her best to keep her voice steady.

"That's your response? Did you even _hear_ what I just said to you? You _cheated_ _on your wife_. We cheated and it is my fault," she hissed.

"Oh stop that," Fitz groaned.

"Stop what?"

"What you're doing. Just stop it right now," Fitz said, sounding frustrated now, "because you know that's not true. Stop pretending like you're some seductress who lured me into temptation. You think I don't know what I did? I know that I cheated. Do you really think I don't feel bad about that? I do, but I can't ignore this. You know how I feel about you. You've _known_ all this time how I feel about you. You know how much I think about you and us. You know this. You know I felt it when I first met you. So stop playing the martyr, Liv. Stop feeling bad for yourself and stop trying to take all the blame so you can convince yourself to feel guilty. Because I want this – I want you. So quit this act where you to pretend to be angry and upset or whatever you're doing right now to make yourself feel better because frankly, it's a little insulting."

"Don't try to tell me what _I'm_ doing. I am not trying to make myself _feel better_," Olivia snapped fiercely, affronted. "That is not what I am saying."

"So then what are you saying? Spit it out."

Olivia felt her words catch in her throat, laden with emotion. Fitz raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Do you want this?" He asked.

Olivia bit her lip, "You have a wife waiting for you upstairs, and you are standing here in a closet with me. So what do you even expect me to say that?"

"Whatever you want to say," Fitz whispered, pressing his thumbs into her palms.

Olivia looked up at the ceiling and willed away the tears that threatened at her eyes and in her throat. She had no idea what to say. Not a single word or sentence sufficient enough to explain how she was feeling came to her mind, and Fitz's words and embrace were doing nothing to help. He was so close that she could see the tightly stitched edges of the buttonholes in his shirt, and she could hear him breathing – slow and controlled. She wanted to run and leave to her room where everything was much less confusing. But then…she wanted him to pull her closer, and to give her a reason to tell him what she wanted. She wanted him pushing up against her, wedging her between his chest and the cold wall…. _But you can't_, she reminded herself. _You can't seriously want all those things and still know that they're wrong, can you? You are not this person, and you don't fool yourself into thinking that this kind of thing makes sense; that it's something that can work. You cannot be okay with this._

"What is it? What do you want to say?" Fitz breathed, resting his lips against her ear.

"I d–, I don't know," Olivia stammered.

His lips were mere centimeters from hers. Olivia knew that all she had to do was lean into him and that it would be over; there would be no more talking, and no more hesitating. It would just her and him with her back against the wall.

"You do know," Fitz urged.

Olivia shook her head in frustration, "Stop talking. Please."

They stared at each other for a minute – Fitz's eyes darted all over Olivia's face and her own were fixed on the groove of his jaw.

"Fine," Fitz whispered, "Look me in the eye then, and really tell me that it was a mistake. Look at me and tell me that you one hundred percent regret it and then I'll leave this alone, because otherwise…I'm sorry, I just can't believe that. Not when I've known you for months now; not when you've gotten to know me. You know I was serious about everything I said. I meant it when I told you that I should have met you first. I meant it when I said I should have waited. You are the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time. I'm married…I know that. But I can't ignore us and I can't look back. I meant every single word I have ever said to you. I love you, Liv, and I won't tell you to keep doing this if you don't want to, but I need to know if you really think that was a mistake. Can you honestly tell me right now that you regret it?"

Olivia looked down at his hands on her wrist. His earnestness made her feel nauseous, and suddenly the closet was getting far too much to bear. She looked up and met his eyes, mustering up a kind of resolve she didn't even think she had in her. Fitz stared back at her, hopeful. Olivia braced herself and spoke.

"Yes, I can. You are married. You have a wife and kids; you have a family. You are running for President and I am working to make sure that happens and that you win. _That_ is my job. This…us…is _not_ my job and so what happened yesterday was a colossal transgression – a _huge_ mistake. And I don't make those kinds of mistakes. It should not have happened and as far as I'm concerned, it did not happen. So from now on, I go back to calling you Governor, and you go back to calling me Olivia. And then we move on, we get over this, and we forget it ever happened."

She pulled her wrists out of his hands and watched as Fitz backed away from her, looking stricken. Then without another glance at him, Olivia unlocked and opened the closet door and walked out.

**Thank you guys for the positive reviews! Glad you're all intrigued ;) Unfortunately after posting the first chapter, I realized that deleted multiple words throughout my story and squished words together. I caught them as soon as it was brought to my attention (thanks dkrodela!) and hopefully it didn't make reading the story too difficult (if anyone else has had this problem with , please let me know!). But enough about the mysteries of uploaders – this was a long chapter. Do you think Olivia was harsh? Did you expect her to have that reaction, or did you think that she'd be more than willing to continue their affair? And do you at least feel a little badly for the unsuspecting Mellie here? I believe that at this point, she was unaware that these types of feelings existed between Olivia and Fitz. I just really love Mellie as a character, and writing her is so much fun because I always picture Bellamy Young's amazingness and it makes writing her dialogue way easier. How do you think Fitz will handle this 'rejection' next chapter? Tell me what you're thinking about these new developments down below!**


	3. Don't Do Me Like That

"What happened to my George Stephanopoulos interview for the fifteenth of April?" Fitz demanded impatiently.

The campaign crew was aboard in the Grant campaign plane. They had flown out of Georgia an hour ago, and were en route to Nevada. Olivia, Fitz, Cyrus, and Mellie sat at the table in the middle of the cabin, revising month-to-month events schedules.

"We canceled that," Olivia answered, looking over the April events calendar she had constructed.**  
**

"And who's we, exactly?"**  
**

"Me, actually. I told Jeanine to go ahead and cancel it."

"Without my knowledge?" Fitz asked accusingly.

Olivia looked up from her calendar at him, wondering if she had mistaken the sourness in his voice. Fitz looked directly back at her.

"It interferes with a lot of your scheduled events…_and_ I didn't think it would be a problem, especially since it's more than a month away," she said slowly.

"Well," Fitz sighed thoughtfully, leaning backwards into his seat, "you thought wrong."

Olivia paused and narrowed her eyes at him. She tried to gauge the mood in his voice, but his face was virtually impassive. Fitz clasped his hands behind his head.

"You have a private fundraising event that same afternoon, and you're traveling all morning. And you're speaking at the National Rifle Association the day after. I did what made sense," Olivia replied tartly.

"No, what you did was sign off on something and make a decision without even bothering to consider me."

Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped short at the sight of Fitz's smug expression.

"The fundraising is important Fitz. I think we can let George take the back seat on this one," Mellie chimed in sweetly.

Fitz eyes lingered on Olivia for a moment, then he pressed his fingers against his forehead agitatedly and sat up straight.

"Okay, fine," he snapped irritably, "Forget it, whatever. What do we do about women? Based on what Rona told us, the Baptist church breakfast two days ago did virtually nothing, and Super Tuesday is _tomorrow_. How did we not get on track? How did we not shrink that gap?"

"Cyrus?" Mellie beckoned, casting a nervous glance over at Fitz.

"Sally swings farther right than you but she has her hands tight on women, Fitz. And it's not a surprise. Even with a beautiful, capable possible First Lady at your side, Sally is…as Liv said, the viable candidate for women," Cyrus informed him.

"I _know_ that. But _right now_, I am asking what we're doing to make up for that?"

Olivia looked at Cyrus and then inhaled deeply and turned back to Fitz, "There's not much we can do at this point, we –,"

"I lost the Minnesota primary," Fitz interrupted dryly.

"Yes, but you won Colorado, Washington state, and we're currently flying away from the Georgia primary you definitely will win –,"

"Yeah, yeah we won all of those, I know. Big deal. What are the projected numbers for Super Tuesday? Do you have those? Is anyone here even _prepared_? It's only eleven in the morning, and I am not asking for much."

Cyrus reached across the table and pulled out a sheaf of papers from underneath a white mug.

"Right here Governor," Cyrus offered, "tracking polls project you leading Sally by 100. 310 to 210."

"Mm. So it looks like I won't win in Tennessee. They project me in a dead heat in Ohio…that's promising…" Fitz laughed sarcastically as he flipped through the papers.

To his left, Mellie eyed Fitz nervously. Cyrus looked at Olivia quizzically, and Olivia surveyed Fitz. She had never seen him act this way before. He flipped through the leaflet mindlessly; whether or not he was aware of the awkward silence, it was hard to tell. But he seemed intent on putting everyone in bad spirits. Olivia cleared her throat.

"The projected outlook for Super Tuesday is good. You've already won the CPAC Poll Straw, and we're certain that you will win the Ohio primary. And no one is expecting you to win Tennessee, which is Zucker's home state so that's not really an issue," she said.

"I _know_ what the issue is Olivia. What I don't know is why no one has a concrete projection for me."

"They're right in front of you Governor. But with all due respect, it's Monday so we can't give you an exact breakdown of Super Tuesday without actually having had experienced Super Tuesday," Olivia replied in a level tone.

"I am not _asking_ you to give me a lesson on the days of the week, Olivia. I am asking you to do simply do your job. That is why you came on this campaign right? To do your job and to not make mistakes? So why don't you do that."

Olivia's mouth fell open as a poignant and strained silence swallowed up the last of Fitz's words. She stared at him, stunned and hurt, and he glowered back. His mouth was pressed into a hard, tense line that settled deep into the groove of his jaw, and there was an unmistakable hostility that had hardened his eyes. His words continued to smart her as they echoed in her head. He had deliberately slighted her. And with the perfectly crafted acrimony and ease with which those words fell out of his mouth, Olivia knew that he had been waiting to throw them at her for some time now. At least a foot of hard plastic table separated them, but she could feel the tension and the anger radiating off of him. The plane lurched sideways with turbulence, shaking Olivia out of her shock. Mellie leaned forward and drummed her fingernails against the table.

"You know what? Now seems like a really great time to take a fifteen-minute break. Fitz honey, why don't we go up to the front and get you hydrated? Cyrus, Olivia – do you want anything?" she proposed, standing up. She rested her hand on Fitz's shoulder pointedly.

"No. Thank you, but I'm fine," Olivia said, keeping her eyes on Fitz.

But he was no longer looking back at her. Instead, his eyes were down staring into his lap. Olivia glared at him, feeling hot indignation. Fitz exhaled loudly, got up and dusted imaginary jeans off the seat of his pants. He and Mellie walked towards the front of the bus; Mellie's hand on the small of Fitz's back. Olivia watched them go.

Once Mellie and Fitz were out of earshot, Cyrus turned to Olivia.

"What the hell was that all about?" He exclaimed.

"I have absolutely no idea," she lied.

"And _that _is why I don't raise children. He hasn't said anything to you?" Cyrus asked.

"No," Olivia said uncertainly,"he and I actually haven't even really crossed paths in the past three days."

This was the truth. Ever since the very next morning after they spoke in the janitorial closet, Fitz had avoided Olivia at every possible moment. Whenever she crossed the threshold, he disappeared or otherwise busied himself so completely that she couldn't get a word in. He had avoided her at morning meetings, left her neat Post-It note instructions via campaign staffers, and on their last night in Georgia, he had hosted a cocktail fundraiser and didn't even bother to throw a passing glance at her the entire night. And then just four hours ago as they piled onto the plane, he had brushed right past her like a stranger, with his suitcase in tow. The vehemence of Fitz's cold shoulder crushed her – it was thick and unforgiving. But she bit the proverbial bullet and did her best to act as though nothing was wrong.

"Hold on, let me get this straight. You're serving as _Communications_ Director on a campaign for a man you haven't had a proper conversation with in three days?" Cyrus queried, looking confused.

"Are you doubting me? You and I both know I could do what I do from Alaska."

Cyrus cocked his head to the side, "Was that a dig at the Republican party circa 2008?"

"Of course not. I thought you were all fans of Alaska. Or is that Russia?" Olivia teased.**  
**

Olivia looked up to see Mellie walking back alone, holding a single cup of tea. She sat down and looked at Cyrus and Olivia, seemingly embarrassed.

"Liv, I am so sorry. I honestly have no idea what is wrong with him. He's stressed, like you said."

"It's okay," Olivia reassured her hastily.

She couldn't put off avoiding Mellie any longer once they all boarded the plane back in Georgia, and the last thing she wanted was for Mellie to feel sorry for her.**  
**

"It's just that I don't want you to feel dismissed or…"

"Really Mellie, I'm fine. We're all running a crazy, year-long marathon. I get it."

"Okay, good," Mellie breathed a note of relief, "then you know what? Let's just leave him to decompress up there and we'll keep working until he's ready to join us, okay?"

She smiled encouragingly at the two of them, and Olivia smiled back, nodding with weak conviction.

x X x

When Fitz finally returned to the table, he was notably quieter but nonetheless still agitated. The rest of the conversation on the plane ride was strictly and unusually, with overly polite commentary. Mellie, spurred by Fitz's temporary absence perhaps, steered the conversation, Fitz nodded every so often and Olivia avoided talking to him other than when extremely necessary. When the plane landed in Nevada three hours later, and the campaign crew settled into a lofty hotel in Henderson, Olivia bid Cyrus goodnight, and headed up to her room, where she peeled off her clothes, and took a long, hot shower.

When she finally crawled into the down comforters on her bed, Olivia turned on the television and flipped through channels idly, imagining that Fitz was maybe only a few rooms away from her. He had purposely said something to hurt her, and didn't even look her in the eye before he walked way. She was angry with him, and more than anything right now, she wanted to find him and yell at him. _But what would you say?_ She asked herself. He had never been angry with her before and she didn't know what to make of it. His words and his behavior had taken her by surprise, and they had burned and incensed her. But there was no denying that for the most part, she was sad. She felt defeated and hopeless trying to wade her way through an empty feeling that had certainly overstayed its welcome. And then of course, she was scared; scared and worried that perhaps Fitz had given up for good, perhaps she had tried too hard and now everything had changed. When she left the closet in Georgia three nights ago, Olivia had waited outside the door for what felt like the longest minute, worrying that she had made a mistake, and wondering what to say to him and whether or not she should she walk back in. But then she reminded herself of all that was at risk and forced herself to walk away, take the stairs back to her room, and lay in the darkness until she fell asleep. She mentally applauded herself for making the right decision – which she knew was a poor attempt to undo whatever wrong she allowed herself to get caught into – but it didn't make her feel any less empty. Olivia sighed and leaned over, needing to talk to someone and distract herself. She fished her cell phone out of her purse and scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at FINCH, STEPHEN, then pressed 'SEND'.

"Olivia?" he answered on the second ring.

"Hi," Olivia said.

"Hey," Stephen whispered back.

"Why are you whispering? Is this a bad time?" Olivia checked her watch – 11:18PM. "Is Georgia there?"

"No, I was sleeping actually," Stephen said, with a yawn to prove it.

"Oh," Olivia said apologetically, catching on. She had forgotten about the three-hour time difference. Stephen certainly would have been sleeping on the East Coast. "Sorry. I forgot about that."

"No, that's okay. What's up?" Stephen prompted gently.

"Well, I'm in Nevada, so there's that," Olivia said, pulling up the tightly tucked comforters of the bed around her waist.

"Are you trying to tell me that you want to go to Vegas?"

"I have done Vegas before, and Vegas and I are not and will never be friends."

Stephen laughed,"I still can't believe it. You're on a presidential campaign right now. Eight years ago, we were in Lillian Goldman at Yale thinking we were going to be lawyers defending crazy sociopathic serial killers and winning cases for them by the last orange thread of their prison clothes."

"Well, one of the campaign strategists steals donuts from the breakfast carts every morning and puts them in her purse, so I'm almost there."

Stephen laughed, "So what's wrong? You're calling me after the ten' o clock news…."

"Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to say 'hi'. I felt like I really needed to talk to someone outside the walls of this campaign. Everyone is just breathing the same recycled, politically obsessed, hyped air. It's like a jungle in here – it's wild and there are people freaking out everywhere."

"And you're loving every minute of it."

Olivia smiled and stared into the television; a blender infomercial was playing on MUTE.

"I do," she admitted, "I just wish had a glass of pinot noir. I'm sorry…did I say glass? I meant bottle."

"Well when Governor Grant wins, you'll probably be able to buy yourself a nice little region in Napa Valley."

"And then you'll have to come and visit me of course."

"So how is he anyway? How is Mr. Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III?"

Olivia took a deep breath, "He's…not bad," she said softly.

"You mean he's not the typical spoiled brat of a wealthy family? He doesn't ask the staffers to wipe the snail caviar off his Berluti shoes?"

"Actually, he buys his shoes at this local shoemaker in California that's he's been going to for years. Apparently this guy makes the most comfortable insoles around. Trust me, if it's not comfortable, Fitz won't wear it."**  
**

"Oh yeah?" Stephen probed, sounding amused.

"Yeah…" Olivia muttered fondly.

She hadn't realized that she was smiling to herself until Stephen yawned on the other line. Quickly, she caught herself and cleared her throat,"Anyway, he's good. He's a normal guy, which makes my job a lot easier."

"So he doesn't take after Fitzgerald Grant II?"

"Well I've never personally met the second Grant, but based on your tone I'm going to say no."

"Oh. So, are you sure you're okay?" Stephen inquired doubtfully, "you seem…sad. Not that I mind being woken up at one in the morning by a good friend."

"You're a terrible liar," she said, with joking remonstration.**  
**

"I know, I know," Stephen yawned again.

"Fine, you don't have to keep proving your point. You can go to sleep now."

"Ah, finally," Stephen sighed with mock relief, "your permission is what I live for."

"Goodbye Stephen," Olivia laughed.

"Goodnight Olivia."

Olivia pressed 'END' and turned off the television, hoping that sometime soon, she'd finally fall asleep.

x X x

Fitz turned off the television and stared at the black screen. He laid his pillow flat onto the mattress and slid down further under the comforter. He didn't like this hotel. The mattresses were uncomfortable and the pillow was too soft for real support. And the sheets were flimsy. He listened to the Mellie run the shower water in the bathroom across from him and pictured Olivia sitting in her hotel room, most likely awake and thinking.

The minute the bus emptied the campaign staff at the hotel driveway and drove away, Olivia was gone...through the glass doors and upstairs to some room on some floor he didn't know. She had spent the last three hours of the flight being nothing more than professionally courteous to him, and every time he thought about it, he didn't know how to feel. Part of him was ashamed at the hurt he had intended his words to make her feel. He wanted to slip out of his hotel room unnoticed, find her somehow, and lay her down on top of him and apologize. But another part of him, a more prominent and stubborn part of him, was still stewing in anger. Olivia had walked out of the closet back in Georgia and closed the door on him, leaving him to mull over heartbreaking, dismissive words. Fitz looked up at the ceiling and thought about their first night together in the hotel room.

He had known exactly what types of waters they were treading when he urged her to say his name on the bus, and even more so when he dropped his hand down by his knees to reach for her fingers. He had tried to do the right thing by telling her to go to her room and reminding himself that somewhere in the back of his mind, he should have been thinking of Mellie. But when Olivia turned away from her own door and walked down the hall, everything else was insignificant. He had swiped open his room with ease and then in seconds, he was pushing Olivia up against the wall; finally getting to feel her, taste her, and be with her. As his hands groped at every part of her soft body he could find, he couldn't help but be amazed: here was this incredible person, unrivaled in her brilliance, beauty, honesty, warmth, and goodness, and she wanted him back just as much. She had taken his hand, grabbed at his shoulders, unbuttoned her shirt, and then let him devour her the way he had always fantasized. And when it was all over – when he had gingerly lain down next to her pulsing, tired body – he fell asleep; unimaginably at peace with the thought that he finally got to be with the person he loved. Olivia Pope had easily consumed every thought and sentiment that passed through his mind; she knew him, more than anyone else could have known him he felt, and finally, she was his. And then when morning arrived, Fitz had woken up late in a daze, and hardly surprised at Olivia's absence. He had gotten dressed, found her missing from the campaign bus…_"something about a personal phone call", _Cyrus had told him…and found himself almost wanting to laugh at her nervous energy at the pancake breakfast – rushing around looking for something to do, and obviously and adorably avoiding him. And then when he had finally caught her alone in the hallways of the hotel, she had done what had seemed to him, the unthinkable…_"Can you honestly tell me right now that you regret it?", "Yes, I can."_…. And then she had yanked her hands out of his and left him standing amidst cleaner fluid and dusters, feeling devastated, lonely, and utterly dejected. It wasn't that much later that he started to feel it – the bitter, antagonistic anger at Olivia for hesitating and leaving him with the idea that maybe, she truly did regret it after all. It was a painful, distressing thought that stuck like a bitter taste in his mouth.

Fitz took off his watch and set it down on the bedside table. The running shower water in the bathroom came to a stop. Across from him, the door to the bathroom opened up and broke him out of his thoughts. And as if like a glaring reminder, Mellie walked out.

"I always bring my own toiletries to these places but I absolutely love the hand lotion they have in that bathroom. And have you seen the robes they have in there, honey? I wonder if they have a gift shop somewhere where I can buy them," Mellie mused happily, sitting on the bed.

Fitz watched her rub lotion vigorously in her palms.

"Mmm," he mumbled, not really listening.

"You know, I know we might not have enough time but I really think we should schedule in a day to visit one of the limestone cliffs. I mean they're nothing like what we have in California, but this state has got to have something else besides desert and…more desert, right?" Mellie laughed.

She looked over at Fitz and frowned, noticing that he hadn't been paying any attention.

"You have got to stop thinking about her Fitz," she said finally.

Fitz's eyes jumped from her hands to her face.

"Who?" he asked cautiously, trying to sound keep his voice light and offhand.

"Sally. You need to stop worrying about her," Mellie settled into the bed sheets, "I mean everyone knows that Paul Zucker and Harry Crayton are basically out of this race and thank God for that, but Sally is just another obstacle. She is just another hurdle Fitz, and you just have to treat her as such. So this is what you need to do: you need to relax, get some really good sleep tonight, revisit game plans in the morning, and –,'

"Mellie…" Fitz groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"I know, I know," Mellie held out her hands cautiously, "I know you say you have it covered and that I shouldn't interfere, but…I am worried about you, Fitz. You're stressed and I know that and I empathize with you, really I do. But, but you need to be a little bit nicer and grateful to those trying to help you out. This morning on the plane was not really your finest hour. You practically jumped down Olivia's throat."

Fitz shifted underneath the sheets in spite of himself.

"Don't look at me like that, you know you did. She is one of the best things to happen to you, to us. So maybe we should try being on her side. And besides, if you ask me, the private fundraiser is way more important than whatever questions George Stephenopoulos and ABC have to ask you."

Fitz nodded absentmindedly.

"Maybe we should fly Karen and Jerry out here? It's only a two hour flight…" Mellie suggested, smiling at him hopefully.

"It's Monday Mellie, they're in school," Fitz reminded her tiredly.

"I know. I'm just…trying to see what I can do to help."

Her voice was concentrated with an effort to sound reassuring, and half-heartedly, Fitz reached out and squeezed her arm. What he meant by it exactly, he didn't know. All he knew was that he didn't have the energy to speak, and that he wanted to fast-forward until tomorrow morning. Mellie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Good night, honey," she whispered into his ear.

Fitz turned off the lamp next to him and rolled over in the darkness, wishing it were Olivia lying beside him.

**So Fitz is mad at Olivia. Surprise, surprise! I lot of people speculated that he would chase after her and try his hardest to convince her that they should keep going. I could certainly see Fitz doing that as well, but I opted not to do that because I didn't want Olivia to be pursued and eventually persuaded into it by Fitz. Sometimes, I like to mess with her a bit and force her into a place where she isn't being handed options, and instead has to find a way to get them on her own, hehe :D. And also, as we all know from past episodes, Fitz certainly has no problem taking the immature route when dealing with being angry with Olivia. Also, I threw in our old PA coworker Stephen Finch because this one-shot would have taken place during season one, of which he was very much a part. Plus, our confused Olivia needed a good old shoulder. So – what are you guys thinking? Are you upset that Fitz is acting this way? Or do you think this is very Fitz-like behavior? I like to think so. I can't wait to see how this plays out, so…until next time, leave your thoughts down below! (P.S.: if you enjoyed getting a peek into Fitz's POV, read my full fan fiction "In Your Eyes", which is chock full of juicy flashbacks and adorable Fitz POVs). **


	4. Beggin', Darlin' Please

The next day, Super Tuesday brought in nothing short of chaos and anxiety. The campaign crew had taken over the hotel's large reception room on their last day in Nevada, and all day everyone watched and waited as the polls in of the eleven states currently up for grabs closed one by one. Six wide television screens sat mounted on the reception room walls – turned on at maximum volume to every channel live broadcasting Super Tuesday coverage. The conference table was littered with stacks of papers and abandoned energy bar wrappers, phones rang like clockwork, and the catered lunch came and sat in the back of the room, uneaten and untouched. By the end of the evening, everyone was wired and energized beyond exhaustion. Midnight came and went, and at ten minutes past, Tennessee, Virginia, and Ohio remained unaccounted for, having yet to close their polls. Olivia walked over to Cyrus, who was hovering by the lunch cart.**  
**

"What have you got for me?" Cyrus asked when Olivia reached his side.

"A lot," Olivia began, handing him a sheaf of papers still warm from the printer. "His approval rating went up ever since his speech earlier this afternoon, which is definitely a good sign, but I still have staffers watching it like a hawk. Twenty minutes ago, twitter published a graph showing the levels of conversation about all of the GOP candidates and Fitz is trailing Sally for the highest level of tweets per day since the day the two of them took the South Carolina primary last week – a notable percentage of them centering around the global economy and China, political reform, and the budget. When everything works out tonight, I'm going to give the go-ahead to release the rest of the photos from Friday's pancake breakfast early tomorrow morning, and then I'm going to look into the online town hall for the end of April."

"You still want to do that?" Cyrus wondered doubtfully.**  
**

"Definitely. It's a perfect way to get 'personal' with people and directly target voter demographics. The American public isn't going to stay happy with just simply getting all of their political information online. Everyone is turning to personal blogs, online videos, social networks, and social commentary to build on their political awareness. People like going online now to interact and use the vast spectrum of opinions out there to create their own political ideologies," Olivia assured him.

Cyrus cocked his head to the side and then shrugged.**  
**

"Fine," he conceded. "But I still don't see what can't be achieved with a simple, traditional town hall forum. Oh, and those breakfast pictures were perfect gold by the way – little old ladies in cream sweaters, cute babies in soft hats, pancakes with syrup smiley faces…gold, gold, gold. If you haven't learned anything from being out here, at least you've learned that you can never go wrong with babies," Cyrus murmured appreciatively as he shuffled through the printouts.

"Duly noted. So what's been happening with the Virginia exit polls, have they even called it yet?" Olivia asked anxiously, looking at her watch – 12:17AM.

"Nope. He's leading though – thank god – but the networks are taking their sweet time projecting it. But the polls just closed in Oklahoma – Crayton's projected winner."

"I heard."

"It wasn't even on our radar anyway," he grumbled, "Fitz is way too socially liberal to seriously compete in a conservative battleground."

Suddenly from the television wall to their left, the 'projection' sound bite from the third television screen hosting MSNBC, sounded throughout the reception room's surround system. Everyone fell quiet as the familiar marquee rolled underneath the desk of two news anchors, male and female news anchor, the latter of whom was the first to speak:

_" – 12:19AM on this Wednesday, March 6, and the polls have finally closed in Tennessee with __Zucker grabbing 27 delegates, Langston with 17, and Grant taking the last 11."_

_"And that really doesn't come as a surprise Brenda, with Tennessee being Zucker's home state. Now, Harry Crayton actually did not make this state's ballot as he –," _

_"Hold on a second there Joe. Hang on to that thought for one minute because we do actually have _another_ projection coming in right now. And…it's Virginia, with polls reading that Fitzgerald Grant is projected to take the win for this state with 23, Langston with 14, Crayton with 6, and Zucker with 3."_

A stiff round of applause erupted throughout the room and then died down as soon as it had started. With the highly anticipated results of Ohio's polls left to close and be announced, everyone was still tense and on edge. Olivia rested her hand on Cyrus's shoulder to calm her nerves – she was incredibly nervous.

"All we need is Ohio and it's his. Come on Ohio, come on Ohio,"Cyrus muttered through gritted teeth. "Can you tell he hasn't been sleeping?"

"Have any of us?" Olivia said lightly, trying to feel disinterested.

But she couldn't help it; she looked up and over at Fitz across the room. In the throng of people walking back and forth, he sat still at the large conference table, casually dressed in jeans and a deep green fleece sweater. He stared, unblinking, at the television screens across from him – jaw set, serious and focused – and although it wasn't obvious, Olivia could see the worry etched in his face. An anxious-looking Mellie sat to his right, dressed in blue and clutching onto his arm.

"I worry sometimes that he doesn't think he has it in him," Cyrus remarked after a brief pause.

Olivia kept her eyes on Fitz.

"Well, maybe that's the problem," she proposed thoughtfully.

"What's the problem?"

"Maybe the problem is that everyone is 'worried'. You just have to let him be, and trust him. He can handle this."

"So why are you over here talking to me? Why don't you go talk to him?"

Olivia watched sadly as Mellie leaned in to whisper something Fitz's ear; he nodded back. Olivia looked away. She was certainly no stranger to the fact that the campaign crew had been unfathomably busy all day trying to keep on top of Super Tuesday. Ever since the early hours of five that morning, not a minute was unproductive: last minute efforts to grab delegates were thrown left and right, maps with target states were taped to every square inch of wall, and minutes after noon, Fitz was shuffled out and prepped for his Super Tuesday speech after winning the Wyoming and Massachusetts primaries. In actuality, there had been little to no time for idle chitchat, but Olivia wasn't without feeling wistful and disappointed that Fitz hadn't spoken to her all day.**  
**

"The Governor is fine," she answered casually, "He doesn't need me over there. He's in a good place; he has an excellent campaign crew and his wife is right beside him."

"Well right now, she's cutting off his circulation. If she doesn't find a stress ball by November, we'll have an amputee President. And that might actually bode well for him if you think about it."

Olivia laughed. Then again, the telltale sound bite sounded around the room and a heavy silence pressed in on the room. Everyone paused mid-action and waited with baited breath. The large red, white, and blue 'SUPER TUESDAY PROJECTION' letters flashed across all six television screens, quickly replaced by projection numbers. Over the jingle, news anchors on every channel read aloud the words printed across their screens:

_"We are now ready to project the exit polls for the big prize, Ohio, and it is looks as though Grant is in the lead with 38, Langston taking 13, Crayton taking 7, and Zucker taking 5 –"_

_" – with 60% of the delegates, big prize Ohio goes to Governor Fitzgerald Grant in ten states going to the polls –" _

_" – projecting that Grant has taken Ohio –" _

_" – and there is your final projection of the night folks. With 38 delegates for Governor Grant, this is really something. I mean, for such a key, battleground state, and really, a politically important state both now and in the general election coming November, I think we –"_**_  
_**

"He got it!" Olivia yelled to Cyrus, who at a loss for words had swept her up in a hug.

Raucous cheer exploded throughout the room; everyone stood up, clapped, and wolf-whistled jubilantly. Olivia grinned even as Cyrus let go of her. It was a momentous success and the radiance and excitement of the drained and sleep-deprived crew in the reception room proved it. Olivia clapped insistently and through the crowd of people standing and moving about, she saw a grinning Fitz break away from an embrace with Mellie to shake hands with everyone. He made his way over to Cyrus and Olivia, and stopped in front of Olivia.

"Congratulations Governor," Olivia said politely.

"Thank you," Fitz held out his hand formally, and she took it.

Then as quickly as Fitz extended the gesture, he pulled his arm back and kept moving.

x X x

Half an hour later, the clock on the far side of the wall was slowly creeping its way into 1AM. The reception room was completely empty apart from Olivia, Fitz, Cyrus, and Rona. Everyone had already left; including Mellie had gone up to the room early to repack hers and Fitz's things.

"Rona, do me a favor and read those numbers to me again?" Fitz grinned, leaning all the way back into his chair.

Rona blushed and peered at her laptop, "Fitzgerald Grant – five states, Sally Langston – three states, Henry Crayton and Paul Zucker – one state, each. Total percentage for each state…."**  
**

Fitz closed his eyes and smiled complacently as he listened to Rona tick off numbers. Cyrus beamed at Olivia and clapped his hands together victoriously.

"This_ is_ it. Sally Langston has officially been blown out of the water," Cyrus exclaimed.

"Okay, so hit me," Fitz said quickly, "What do we do next?"

"Zucker and Crayton are done," Cyrus said gleefully.

"Sally Langston is pretty much over with," Rona put in.

"I wonder if she has made arrangements to move all of her things back to her quaint hometown. We should rent her a couple of U-Hauls, on the campaign," Cyrus wondered aloud.**  
**

"So about the press?" Fitz asked suddenly, looking at Olivia.

"We spoke to the rapid response director who's handling all the criticism from Langston's camp about your speech earlier this afternoon. We're making sure everything they've said will be countered and rebuffed," Olivia started.

"And what else?"

"And I think we need to do a lot with the rally you have at the University of Illinois on the tenth. We've been reading media blurbs and corresponding with press all day and I think it would really help to get a tighter grip on your themes. Your speech earlier rallied a lot of last minute and undecided voters, especially when you touched on health care. But I do think that it's time we start focusing more on what you have to say about shrinking the budget, and maybe even the energy policy. A lot of the press has criticized you because they feel like they haven't really gotten a true sense of where you stand on both of those issues. I want to issue a press release at least three days before your fundraiser at the Ritz Carlton in New York City on the thirteenth."

"Oh come on," Fitz groaned impatiently, "I _have_ talked about the budget."

"People are missing out on your focus."

"Okay, so what do we do now? How do we kick up the momentum? What interviews do I need to do?"

"Jim Acosta's nice," Cyrus chimed in.

"No," Olivia shook her head, "that won't work. I checked him out and he's already interviewing Sally on the thirteenth. I say we exploit the interview we have scheduled with Blitzer on The Situation Room on the eighteenth. We use that interview to establish your tone. That is our chance to make sure that no one can accurately say they're unclear about where you stand."

"Okay, good," Fitz said, "Live from the campaign headquarters. I like that. What time will it be? How long before do you need to prep me?"

"I'm going to look into it tomorrow. Everything should check out but I might not be there for that one."

Surprise flickered over Fitz's face and then he narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean you won't be there?" He asked incredulously.**  
**

"I want to go to a couple of your state campaign headquarters in Ohio and Iowa and help them implement the changes I want to make to your literature, and newsletters," Olivia replied.

"Forget about shrinking the budget and the energy policy. _Here_ should be your main focus; _this_ campaign trail should be your main focus. If all of us aren't serious here, how do you expect us to further our progress and move forward?"

"Everyone _is_ serious," Olivia said in a clipped tone.

"Doesn't look like it to me. You're leaving unannounced. You're taking off days during the biggest and most important stretch of this campaign. You're not focused, you're not dedicated, and I'm not going to let you commit petty time theft at this campaign's expense."

Olivia stood up so quickly that her chair rolled backwards and collided with the metal wire trash bins, "Cyrus, Rona – can the Governor and I have a minute alone please?"

Rona didn't need telling twice. She looked around at the three of them awkwardly, and then without another word, she shuffled out of the room. Cyrus, on the other hand, hung back long enough to let out a long and pointed sigh. He looked back and forth between Olivia and Fitz both glowering at each other, and then cleared his throat.

"It's one in the morning, and we've all been through hell. So let's just call it. It has truly been a great day for the Grant campaign, Governor."

"Thank you, Cyrus," Fitz said stiffly, keeping his eyes on Olivia.

Cyrus turned to leave. Olivia walked with him and once he had gone, she closed the door behind him, pushed in the lock button, and twisted the blinds of large window next to the door so that they snapped shut. Then she turned back to Fitz, who was now sitting on the edge of the conference table with his hands shoved lazily in his pockets; expression one of utmost smug politeness.

"Yes?" Fitz asked.

"What the hell is your problem?" Olivia demanded.

"I don't have a problem," Fitz shrugged noncommittally.

"If I'm making big changes – to newsletters, E-brochures, community involvement outreach brochures, press kit materials, PSAs and media releases – for your campaign, then implementing these changes across the nation is helping. I spent all of today tracking you on every map in this room and every media outlet known to mankind, I know what I'm doing."

"Maybe that's what you think," Fitz scoffed.

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him and bit hard down on her bottom lip, angrily. She crossed her arms over her chest and when spoke next she kept her voice even and purposeful.

"Are you mad at me because I can't be here to – quote, further our progress** – **or because I walked out of that closet in Georgia?"

Without missing a beat, Fitz smirked and shook his head, "Don't flatter yourself. This isn't about you, Olivia."**  
**

"No?" she bristled.

"I am mad because you're not getting it. This is simply the way a campaign works. Our state-by-state campaign headquarters are doing an excellent job. I know because Harriet gives me daily reports. But this – our group right here – is our center platform. I need to be seen. I need to be heard. This is strictly about the campaign. This isn't about you."

"So that's why you've been completely ignoring me for the past three days? That's why you've been picking fights and lecturing me about cancelled interviews and overseeing state campaign headquarters and _time theft _because this isn't about me and that's just how a campaign works?"

"You were wrong for cancelling my interview on the fifteenth. You had no idea what you were doing with that without clearing it with me. "

"You and I both know that there were and still are way better televised opportunities for you. Cyrus hired me as your Communications Director. Like I said, I know what I'm doing," Olivia said assertively.

"Trust me, you don't need to remind me what your job is," Fitz held up a hand in assurance.

"You can stop now, okay? Just stop doing this."

"And what exactly am I doing?"

"You're being an asshole," Olivia said angrily.**  
**

"Ouch," Fitz raised his eyebrows in mock hurt. "I'm sure some select left-wing press has certainly called me worse," he shrugged.

Olivia stared at him and quelled the urge to cross the room and slap him. Fitz stared back at her, looking as though she were already boring him; his foot casually propped on its heel. His expression was overwhelmingly petulant and obnoxious.

"You know why I did what I did," she said quietly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Fitz answered dismissively, standing up.** "**Are we done here?"

"I had to do it and you know that," Olivia blurted out, stepping backwards until her back was against the door, blocking his way. "There was no other option. And putting me in a mean and difficult place is not helping anyone."**  
**

"I am not putting you anywhere."

"It was not going to happen – it _could_ never have happened. We are in the middle of a campaign and you're in the middle of a marriage. You _know_ it couldn't have kept going."

"I'm confused. Why are we talking about this? I thought we were past it? I thought you regretted it and had already moved on?" Fitz asked.

Olivia tensed up. The coldness of her own words from days ago smarted, but not more than did the spiteful nonchalance with which Fitz threw them back at her.

"You knew what I meant," she breathed.

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her, "Did I? How could you know for sure? Because the only thing I heard you say was that it was wrong."

"And it is!" Olivia yelled, feeling tears sting at the sides of her throat. "It is wrong. I mean, you can't seriously believe that I could be okay with what happened. It happened, yes. But it was a mistake and…I can't be okay with that."

"Forgive me if I sound dense, but when are you okay with it, then?"

"What does that even mean?"

"You're the one who walked to my room, Olivia!" Fitz yelled.

"What?" Olivia sputtered, caught off guard.

"It wasn't the other way around. _You_ walked down to _my_ room! You're the one who walked to my room door. You're the one who made the choice to turn down the hall. You could have gone back into your room just like I said but you _didn't_. You didn't, Olivia. You kept walking. You made that decision. You said my name on that bus, you walked to my door, you walked into my room and now all of a sudden you're worried about mistakes? Olivia – that was me and you back there. So too bad if I'm the way I'm treating you is hurting your feelings, but you hurt me too."

"I made a mistake! I told you that. I did something wrong and I'm trying to make it better."

"Well, you could have fooled me, if you think this is making it better."

"So that's what this is? You're trying to punish me for doing the right thing? _You_ don't get to be angry with me! You don't get to be mad at me for doing the right thing."

"You walked out on me!"

"One of us had to leave!" Olivia shouted.

"I told you that I love you."

Olivia stopped short and swallowed whatever angry reply she had planned to throw back at him. Instead, she blinked back and tears and focused her eyes beyond Fitz at a neutral spot on the wall behind him. There wasn't a moment that passed by without her remembering those words and the way they made her feel. She hadn't forgotten a single thing about that moment when he said those words to her, nor did she want to.

"I told you that I am _in _love with you," Fitz went on, "but right now, I really wish I hadn't meant it. Because then I wouldn't be standing here having this conversation."

For the second time in less than a few minutes, Fitz's words cut her to an aching core. Olivia looked down at the floor, unable to look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

"I didn't mean to –,"

"Hurt me?" Fitz finished for her.

Olivia steadied her breath, and looked back up to see Fitz studying her closely.**  
**

"Did you really not mean to? Did you mean to hurt me?" Fitz asked solemnly.**  
**

"No," Olivia replied automatically, letting the words jump up her throat and out her mouth.

But in spite of herself, she felt nervous and guilty. She didn't know if that was entirely true. She had left the closet back in Georgia with the intention of ending it and hoping that her words would stop him – and herself – from hoping for or pursuing anything more.

"I want you to understand that I can't have you, Fitz. I need you to understand that," Olivia implored.

"Yes, you can. I'm right here," Fitz replied, holding out his arms in gesture.**  
**

Olivia opened her mouth, dumbfounded. "Okay," she said, "and then what happens?"

Fitz didn't say anything.

"Then what did you think would happen?" she continued. "Did you think we'd find a way to keep this up? But only in private with closed blinds and locked janitorial closets? Or were you planning on telling your wife? Were we going to do it at the same time or did you want to handle that one on your own? How did you want this to all unfold? Do you think we should tell everyone once the campaign is over or should we just do it right now and get a head start on the _billions_ of people that would talk about us? Should we just give the press our own version of their narrative to write about me? Or maybe you want to just scrap the whole idea of you running for president altogether? Or are people suddenly okay with married candidates in relationships with campaign staff? Maybe we should get Rona back in here and see what kind of approval ratings can pull up for us?"

Olivia paused and took a deep breath before she continued.

"You look at me and it's just too much. I am confused, I feel bad, it's complicated and I don't know what to do anymore. I want…I can't keep making myself vulnerable with a man I can't have."

"That's what you think?" Fitz asked, his eyes widening, "that you're vulnerable?

Olivia felt a strange pain her in stomach. There was a heartbreaking realization and concern in Fitz's voice that was truly unsettling.

"No," she said quickly. She bit at her lip and answered truthfully, "I don't know."

Fitz sighed, "Fine. Okay."

"'Fine okay' what?" Olivia asked, surprised.

"I don't know what I expected," he said quietly.

Olivia watched him carefully. He was looking at her sadly, and almost regretfully, with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn't yelling anymore either, but Olivia wasn't sure that was better. He sounded very much resigned.

"I have to be honest," Fitz laughed dryly, "I didn't think about that part. I _do_ know that I have spent months and months thinking – knowing – that you were…incredible, and how amazing it would be to have you. That's what I've been thinking about**. **So the answer to your question is no, I don't know what would have happened next. But it's fine because I guess it doesn't matter anyway, right?"

Fitz looked at her sadly and Olivia only looked back at him. The room had gone agonizingly quiet, but there was no tension or anger. There was only an unnervingly pleasant pause – like two strangers in conversation, patiently and politely waiting for the other to speak. After a long and heavy moment, Fitz cleared his throat and walked towards her. Olivia opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Fitz stopped and stood before her, so close that she could see the spots of lint on his fleece. He reached out an arm and for a split second, Olivia waited for him to reach out and touch her cheek. But instead, Fitz reached beyond her and twisted open the blinds. Then he dropped his hand down near her waist and unlocked the reception room door.

"I saw the changes you made to the campaign literature. They're great. I can have one of the deputy communication directors prep me, and then I'll make sure your travel and lodging arrangements are taken care of. Iowa and Ohio will benefit from you for a couple of days. And I am sorry…for this," Fitz finished sincerely.

Olivia said nothing and stared at black zipper of his fleece sweater. She was afraid to even move.

"The bus leaves at five?" He asked, his hand lingering on the knob.

There was no bitterness to his voice, but still, something felt was if the past few minutes had never happened, and so, neither did that night. Olivia felt heartbroken and empty. She looked at his hand lingering on the knob and thought of something to say, anything to continue the conversation, and to keep him there longer. She didn't want him to walk out; the acquiescence in his voice scared her. She looked him in the eye. He was watching and waiting for her patiently. She took a deep breath and stepped to the side, away from the door.

"5AM," she said quietly.

Fitz nodded and opened the door, and then left. Olivia crossed over to the conference table into the chair and fought back the urge to cry.**  
**

**Poor Olivia! If I were in her shoes, I would certainly rather deal with an angry Fitz than a Fitz who seems like he doesn't care anymore. I feel badly for the both of them, and this chapter was actually kind of sad to write. So what did you guys think of these new developments? Fitz seems to be over this – sad but accepting, I like to think. We all know how these two ended up anyway, but how do you think they'll deal with this crossroads now? Do you think Fitz will decide to keep pursuing her anyway? And what do you think could possibly change Olivia's mind? Tell me what you think down below and thank you guys so much for enjoying this story!**


	5. Blind You in Between Wrong and the Right

The week following the tremendous success of Super Tuesday was, as everyone expected, hectic and crammed with events. The crew left Nevada early that same Wednesday morning and headed east,where they covered campaign stop after campaign stop. The rally at the University of Illinois was met with triumphant turnout, and the same remained true when the campaign crew hit New York City. Exactly a week after Nevada, billionaire hedge fund manager, Garth Merrick, held a Grant fundraiser luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton hotel on Central Park South. It was supposed to be a relaxed and inspiring affair, and so the fundraising crew had spent every minute of the frantic morning preparing. And at exactly 12:30pm, the doors to the hotel's expansive Emory Roth Room opened, and guests, with wallets hardly dented by the sizeable $2,500-minimum entry fee, were escorted in and seated at large, round banquet tables. A modest stage had been erected at the north side of the room, white billowing curtains garnished the enormous windows, and delicate finger meals weaved between tables on shiny platters, accompanied by endless rounds of champagne flutes. Olivia, Cyrus, and the rest of campaign staff required to attend occupied the banquet table closest to the far right of the stage.

The luncheon began sharply at one, with an opening address by Garth Merrick. As the afternoon went on, more guest speakers took to the podium one by one to deliver their congratulations and support for the Grant campaign. Olivia listened to each one and clapped politely along with the rest of the room. Then at two, the audience welcomed Fitz to the stage with a long round of applause. Olivia sat up straight. The bottom of her stomach flipped nervously – she hadn't seen him all day, and there he was – looking handsome in a black suit. In the wake of their heated and sobering conversation on their last night in Nevada, there was no mention of anything that had transpired between them – Georgia hotel room, janitorial closet, or otherwise. Fitz's sour, embittered tone of the days just before Super Tuesday had vanished, seemingly overnight, and the week had gone by smoothly without upset or spar. Fitz had been…entirely normal. Day after day of the campaign, through all their trips eastward, he had treated Olivia like any other person on the campaign – not unusually genial, polite, and professional. Their conversations were as normal as could be, and if there had been any residual emotion at all, it certainly wasn't evident. Had Olivia not experienced the past week, she might never have known anything happened at all. Fitz gripped the podium, and Olivia listened, rapt with attention and hanging onto every word….

"…. So let me tell you this: America is ready to be better, stronger, and more unified than ever. It will take time to get there, and it will take citizens like you who believe in this country and myself, and who are committed to fighting and pushing towards that better, stronger America. I have the vision, rooted in a secure and distinct plan to get us there: a conservative economic strategy that will increase jobs for more of our hardworking Americans, less debt for our country and for the families struggling to keep children in college and maybe even food on the table, and a smaller government that preserves American freedom and innovation. To build a strong country, we need to stand with a president who is willing to restore America to its founding principles as a land of opportunity and freedom, prosperity and leadership."

Guests clapped enthusiastically and Fitz smiled graciously as he waited for the noise to die down. Olivia watched him, and without even realizing it, she was smiling back. Fitz was in his element – she could tell. He was an excellent orator. Fitz cleared his throat and finished up with his closing remarks.

"I know that the outlook is bleak; I know that the horizon seems barren with just a shaky future, and I know that many of you may have lost hope. But now is the time to abandon hesitation and apprehension. Join me in the hopes I have for us, and let us move forward to take real strides for what we want for ourselves and for this great nation. And so I end by saying this to you…if you are willing to stand by me and work with me, and hold onto that vision and plan I have for us, then I _promise_ you, our brighter and better days are surely ahead of us. Thank you. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America."

Like a professional, Fitz made eye contact with the entire room. But Olivia couldn't help but feel flustered when his eyes landed on her table and rested on her – sweeping her up in a gaze that arrested her very insides. But as quickly as Fitz had looked her way, he wasn't anymore, and Olivia wasn't sure if she had just imagined it all. And it wasn't until Cyrus nudged her to stand that she remembered where she was and realized that the entire room had burst into a standing ovation.

"Impressed? He wrote that last part himself," Cyrus pointed out.

"Did he?" Olivia mused.

Once Fitz stepped off the stage, the guests took their cue to leave their tables and roam the room. Cyrus left her side, muttering something about wanting to talk to Garth. Olivia scanned the room and saw Fitz standing across the room by the windows talking to a group of women. She hung back and watched him talk, and then waited until he was standing alone to walk over to him.

"That was flawless," she said quietly, once she'd reached him.

Fitz turned around. He looked surprised. He stepped back and quickly, his eyes swept over her – down to her legs and then back up to her face. Even in a modest day dress, Olivia felt a nervous blush creep up on her.**  
**

"You thought so?" he asked her, grinning.

"Absolutely. Even Cyrus voiced his approval."

"Wow. I don't know if I should alert the press or put that on my resume," Fitz said.

"He said that you wrote the end yourself."

Fitz nodded, "I did. Why? You didn't like it?" His eyebrows furrowed with concern.

Olivia shook her head quickly, "No that's not it, I –,"

"Fitz!" Someone called out from nearby.

Fitz and Olivia turned around to see Mellie striding over towards them.

"Oh, Olivia, you look great," she beamed.

"Thank you, and you do too, of course."**  
**

"Do you mind terribly if I steal Fitz for a minute? Garth wants to speak to him personally and I think Cyrus is talking his ear off."

"No, no, of course not," Olivia encouraged, "go ahead."

Mellie took Fitz by the arm and quickly, she lead him away. Olivia stood by the window and watched the two of them disappear into the crowd.

x X x

By early evening, the campaign crew had already retired to their rooms to take full advantage of the truly rare moment of free time. The space and lavishness of Olivia's room was amazing. It was a Parkview guestroom with all the atmosphere of a luxurious private home: a marble bathroom stuffed with thick, warm towels and plush terry robes, a queen-sized bed draped in 400-thread count fine linen, and enormous windows overlooking the shadowy trees of Central Park – complete with a tabletop telescope for viewing. Olivia sat on her bed – the television on MUTE, and a half-eaten salad from the hotel bistro wilting pathetically next to her on the bedside table. Her mind was elsewhere.

Mellie had swept Fitz away at the fundraiser, and by the time Olivia turned to look for him again, he had vanished. And then sooner than she knew it, the hotel staff was clearing away table runners and deconstructing the stage – the room was emptying and Fitz had gone. She felt silly and foolish waiting around for him to come back, so instead she went up to her room. His words to her from the last time they spoke about the two of them had latched onto the inside of Olivia's mind, and played on a loop like a solemn and torturous record… _"Yes, you can. I'm right here."_

But things were different and that didn't seem to be true anymore. She had implored that Fitz move on, and she had closed the door on their conversation; finally, Fitz had followed suit. But now, even days later, it didn't feel as right as she thought it would since Fitz left her alone in the reception room, she had been struck – day and night –with a horribly empty feeling. The relief she expected to feel at finally having pushed him away without further transgression never came; instead, it was an ugly, nagging unhappiness that tugged at her every time she saw him. She was heartbroken and frustrated with herself, and even ashamed for knowing that a small part of her had taken comfort in the fact that in spite of everything – in spite of Fitz's childish behavior and biting remarks – he still wanted her; he still reacted to her and despite her pleas, he was still invested. But now, she wasn't so sure. Now, he hardly kept up a conversation with her longer than what was necessary; now, he never lingered at the end of meetings, hoping to catch her alone. It was as though they were two people who were possibly standing even farther apart than how they started out – a frightening and heartbreaking prospect that gnawed its way down to Olivia's bones.

She thought she had put up a respectable fight against her feelings for him, but now, Fitz seemed to be everywhere. He completely consumed her thoughts, all the time. She forever wondered what he was doing, where he was, what he was thinking about and especially, whether or not he was thinking about her. And earlier – Olivia wasn't entirely sure, and she even considered that perhaps she had hoped for it so much she had imagined it – but she could have sworn that she saw his eyes linger on her during his speech; and then again moments later, up and over her dress, which now hung draped over the back of an armchair by the armoire. It seemed that even with every hour, it got harder and harder to ignore – she was falling for Fitz much harder and faster than before, and there was nothing she could do – or wanted to do – to stop it. She needed to be near him and around him, wherever he was.

Over her thoughts, Olivia heard a loud knock on her door. She froze. _That can't be him_, she thought to herself. She got up out of bed and walked over to the door. She looked through the peephole. It was opened the door to see him in full view – smiling and holding a bottle of red wine and two tall wine glasses.

"Revana Carbernet, 2007. Two-hour decant," he declared matter-of-factly.

He held the wine up to eye level. Olivia gawked at him as he invited himself inside of her room. The dark bottle shined appropriately in the flattering recessed lighting.

"Wow. And to what do I owe this very pleasant surprise?" Olivia asked, closing the door behind him.

If there were ever a distraction from her thoughts, it was certainly a bored Cyrus boasting a bottle of one hundred and twenty-five dollar wine.

"My room is boring. Big and fancy, but boring," Cyrus complained with a gloomy sigh. "I've watched so many reruns of _Face the Nation_, that I'm starting to look like Bob Schieffer. The hotel minibar has no Snickers or Reese's peanut butter cups, and I'm so restless that I actually even decided to _exercise_."

"When? You went to the hotel gym?" Olivia wondered, looking at the clock – 7:07PM.

"I took the stairs up to your room," he admitted.

"_Wow_, three flights of stairs. Can't say I'm not impressed," Olivia teased. "Well you're going to hate me because you did all that exercise for nothing. I don't even have a corkscrew."

Cyrus smirked patronizingly and handed her the two wine glasses and his cell phone.

"Hold these," he said. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a corkscrew. "Don't ever underestimate me."

Olivia sat back down on her bed; back propped up against the wooden headboard, and patted a spot next to her on the duvet cover.

"So when did you even buy this?" she asked, tipping her salad into the trashcan to make room for the glasses.

"Last week, for celebratory purposes," Cyrus said, sitting down next to her.

"Super Tuesday was a week and a day ago, so what are we celebrating now?"

Cyrus gazed up at the ceiling in thought,"The surprising intactness of our sanity? The fact that I haven't developed crows to accompany my crow's feet? The fact that you walk around in linen all day and still manage to squeeze in a press release and primetime interview without so much as a crease? The little things, you know."

He uncorked the wine with a small _pop_ and poured Olivia a generous glass. She held it up for a toast.

"To sanity, no crows, and something about linen."

Cyrus clinked glasses, "Hear, hear."

Olivia took a long sip and savored the richness of its body and texture.

"This is amazing, and I think I might love you," she told Cyrus and poured herself a little more.

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, "And just imagine if I gave it a three hour decant?"

Cyrus's phone sounded off a vibration next to them. Olivia looked at it slowly buzzing its way to the perilous edge of her bedside table – JAMES.**  
**

"Who's James?" Olivia asked, handing the phone to Cyrus.

Cyrus peered at it, and then quickly shoved it into his breast pocket.

"Some journalist," he said curtly.

"From what paper?" she asked curiously, "have I heard of him?"

"_The Washington Sun_. And I don't think so," Cyrus shook his head. "I'm sure he's calling to get something about the fundraiser."

"Oh, I can to talk to him, just give me his number."

"No, no," Cyrus insisted, waving Olivia off abruptly, "it's fine. I'll handle him. No big deal."

"So where is he anyway?"

"Who?" Cyrus asked cautiously.

"Fitz? I bet he's somewhere grilling Rona for numbers," Olivia said fondly.

"Actually, he and Mellie are _out to dinner_," Cyrus informed her.

"What?" Olivia turned to look at him, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Who are you telling? I couldn't believe it either. But indeed, they're at _Marea _with the Merricks. Some seafood place only a six-minute walk right down the street."

Olivia said nothing for a minute, hoping that Cyrus was lying. But Cyrus only sipped his wine and flipped through television channels.

"A busy candidate who just swept the floor in the biggest set of primaries, but still manages to carve out a moment to devote precious campaign time to his wife and marriage. Perfectly humble, grounded, and charming – brilliant idea. Who's was it?" Olivia asked finally, keeping her voice light.

"His, actually."

"Oh," Olivia muttered. A sharp twinge clenched around her stomach. She stared into the inky purple-red depths of her wine, and then quickly, she downed the last of it.

"I think they're doing a lot better. Fitz and Mellie," Cyrus added.

Olivia looked down at the bed's duvet cover, feeling nauseous.

"Well good,"she replied, a little more bitterly than she intended, "I'm happy for the both of them."**  
**

"You should be. They have you to thank for it."

Inwardly, Olivia winced at Cyrus's comment. She pictured Fitz and Mellie at dinner – seated in a private dining room and talking over sea bass and scallops. Suddenly, she felt very lonely. Olivia tipped her glass towards Cyrus who obliged with another generous refill. The two of them sat, side-by-side, at the top of her bed in a long and pleasantly comforting silence. She sat deep in thought, and Cyrus, who kept looking at his phone, seemed to be doing the same.

"You know I wanted to run for President?" Cyrus blurted out, after a moment.

Olivia sat up straight, taking care not to slosh her wine over her lap.

"What?" she spluttered.

Cyrus nodded his head with sheepish confession, "Yup."

"No way. You?"

"Yes way, me. And why do you sound so surprised?"

"No, I'm…I'm not. I just…never knew."

Cyrus didn't say anything.**  
**

"So…why didn't you?" Olivia asked.

"Eh…I'm not really made for that."**  
**

"Says who?"**  
**

"Says me. I can't remember the last time I was forty-five, sometimes I slouch, and my hair is a really lovely shade of white. I mean Clinton had white hair, but his was like a lamb's. Thick. And full of promise and geniality."

Olivia laughed.

"Mm, Clinton did have good hair. Although I think his hair is brown, naturally. But yours is passable, so that _can't_ be the reason," she pressed slyly.

Cyrus stared into his wine glass and shook his head, "No. To be president, you have to be…good."

"Oh of course," Olivia said sarcastically. "Because _everyone_ knows that 'good' is synonymous with 'politician'."

Cyrus lifted his wine glass to her in agreement, "Touché."

"But what do you even mean you're not good?"

"There's a big difference between good and _good_. I mean sure, I'll water your plants for you when you're out of town, and maybe I'll even pick up your mail and feed your iguana, but I am used to being the questionable gray in the black and white; I have straddled the fence of right and wrong many a times, and with the tendency to err on the um...wrong side. I do what needs to be done – whether people like it or not. In short, I am the seedy underbelly of Washington that your mother warned you about."

"Oh please," Olivia protested with a laugh, "You just brought me wine with the best bouquet I've tasted since this campaign started! You make it seem like you're some kind of political monster."

"You would be surprised. See Fitz…is, he's the kind of face you want on the White House. He's like a walking presidential advertisement: photogenic with a blue-blooded wife and a good head of hair, too. Fitz is the kind of guy erecting a state-of-the-art homeless shelter for every homeless person with a sad story, and I'm the guy signing that bill into place."

"I don't believe that. You're a leader, too. You should have done it. Run for President, found yourself a governor's daughter to marry, and gone after what you wanted."

Cyrus laughed dryly and just shook his head without a word.

"I don't get it," Olivia urged. "I'm sure you had a shot and a chance. You'd rather just sit here with me just regretting it?"

"Your eagerness is as cute as a button, Liv. And your motivational speaker-esque support is sweet, but no. You wouldn't know what it's like to do things you're not proud of. Or rather, do things that you enjoy that you _shouldn't_ be proud of.**  
**

Olivia looked away guiltily; the irony of Cyrus's words not lost on her. She let the last sips of her wine swim over her tongue, and then she put down her empty glass, and looked over at Cyrus who was staring blankly at her muted television screen. The room was suddenly starting to feel a little bit warmer, and maybe it was the two glasses of cabernet she downed in less than ten minutes, but for some reason she wanted to tell Cyrus. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to tell him everything that happened in Georgia, to ask him what he thought she should do, and to have a helping hand while trying to wade her way through the impossible. She wanted – she needed – to talk about it. Next to her, Cyrus sank lower into her sheets, took another sip of wine, and then smacked his lips appreciatively. Olivia took a deep breath and ran a hand through her bangs. _What are you thinking?_ She thought to herself. _Are you serious? Cyrus?_ She couldn't tell had brought her onto this campaign and he was an ideal sidekick – full of witty banter and sometimes downright cutting honesty – but his warm and consoling shoulder only reared its rare head ever so often. And she was entirely sure that he would lend it to her once he found out that she couldn't stop thinking about and wanting the married candidate he had put his entire life into.

Cyrus sighed and looked down into his wine sadly. Olivia stretched out on her bed and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

"I would have voted for you," she said consolingly.

Cyrus looked over at her and laughed, "High praise from an apolitical. Don't let Fitz hear you say that."

Olivia smiled. Cyrus leaned over and picked up the near-empty bottle to pour Olivia another glass. She shot out her hand to stop him.

"No more. _Definitely_ no more. It feels like Miami in here and I think I'm starting to see two of you."

"Well, then it must be your lucky night."

Olivia laughed and rested her head on Cyrus's shoulder.

x X x**  
**

Fitz stood impatiently in the Ritz-Carlton lobby, waiting for the elevator. He smelled his jacket. It smelled like seafood and he wanted to take it off. Mellie stood next to him, arms crossed and staring straight ahead. He felt miserable and lonely and all he could think of was how much he hoped that somewhere on this elevator ride up to the seventeenth floor, Olivia would get on. He missed her – badly. His Super Tuesday victory left him elated, but only for so long. His argument with Olivia only an hour later had cut it short. Still wounded by her for leaving him alone the closet, Fitz had lashed out with words that were carefully wrought and deployed to sting her. The two of them had gone back and forth for a while about things they knew neither of them really wanted to talk about** – **Olivia with her back against the door and Fitz keeping his distance so that he wouldn't run over and kiss her. Out of anger and desperation, he had tried to guilt-trip her by reminding her that she had walked to his room. But then she had looked so sad…_"__I can't keep making myself vulnerable with a man I can't have_..." that he felt much more terrible than he had before. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to not reach out and touch her. So instead, he blurted out a quick apology – too ashamed to say anything more – and he left the conference room. The week had gone by and he had stayed true to her adamant requests – he left her alone. He kept conversations with her short, and he didn't hang around hoping to catch her alone**. **They had been together over a dozen times at length over the past week, but everyday it got harder and harder and he didn't trust himself to be around her and not pull her away and plead with her to reconsider. And so rather than push her away her even further, he stayed true to his request, and left her alone. But there was something about today. There was something about the way she looked at him in the sea of people and smiled, and told him that his speech was 'flawless'** – **something about that made today especially difficult.

The elevator doors chimed open, jarring Fitz back to the present. He and Mellie stepped inside and she quickly pressed '17'. The elevator started its slow, patient ascent.**  
**

"Did you like your…what was it that you got again?" Mellie asked suddenly.

Fitz exhaled loudly, "Grilled Mediterranean cuttlefish."

"Cuttlefish…right, that's right."**  
**

There was a long silence – the '7' above of them lit up.

"Well?" she prompted.

Fitz turned to her, "_Well_ what?"**  
**

"Well, _did_ _you_ _like _it?" Mellie asked in a brittle tone.**  
**

"It was fine, Mellie. I really don't want to talk about fish right now."

"Then what do you want to talk about? You hardly said anything to me at dinner."

"I didn't have much to say."

"Are we going to get through this? Are we going to try and do this together?" Mellie snapped.**  
**

"I went to dinner, didn't I?" Fitz shot back. "I invited Garth out just like his wife had asked. I told him loved his ideas even though I hated them, I had the fish, I tasted the antipasti, I tipped the waiter, and I even told Lydia that Karen and Jerry would just love to spend their summers with their kids in Ann Arbor. Which is also another lie."

"You were _fine _all this week, so I don't understand what's happening with you."

"Nothing is happening with me. Dinner is over, Mellie. We don't have to talk to each other. And we don't have to pretend like I'm not stuck in a dysfunctional relationship with a real winner like yourself."**  
**

Mellie's mouth dropped open in shock. She turned away from Fitz and stared straight ahead, biting at her lips. Fitz sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "That was unnecessary."

Mellie didn't say anything. The light under '17' shined pale orange, and the doors opened with a chime. Fitz stepped forward to leave, but Mellie stopped in front of him – blocking the elevator doors from closing again.

"Really, Mellie. I'm sorry," Fitz sighed, "I didn't mean–,"**  
**

"Go to bed," Mellie cut him off curtly. "Get some sleep. Wake up and do what you need to do. _I_ will handle us on our own. And then if things go our way come November, we'll both be lucky enough to end up in a big house with one hundred and thirty-two rooms and two wings to separate us."

**Turns out Fitz _didn't_ come up with the idea to go to dinner with Mellie (you can breathe now Olivia!) – at least not willingly. Sigh …these two. Somehow they always seem to be in sync, but they can never just come together. Did anyone catch the double meaning in Fitz's speech by the way? Not sure if he meant to do it, but I think Olivia definitely picked up on it! I just loved Cyrus's conversation with Olivia – if only Olivia knew Cyrus was talking about his sexuality, and if only Cyrus knew Olivia was thinking about Fitz! Where do you think Olivia and Fitz will go from here? I have to admit, I enjoy when Fitz pursues Olivia, but I'm glad he's finally leaving her alone (hey, she asked!). Do you think he'll snap out of it and go after what he wants anyway? Or do you think the ball is in Olivia's court? She looks like she might be coming around (I hope). THANK YOU guys for enjoying and reading! Tell me what you thought of this update down below :D **


	6. Fire on High

Five days later, the campaign crew was back at headquarters in Oregon. It was late in the morning, and Olivia sat at the conference table with Mellie, Fitz, Jeanine, and Cyrus on her left. They had just convened only ten minutes ago and were going back and forth, volleying ideas with one another. Fitz had just taken Illinois and Puerto Rico under his belt, the party nominations were quickly rising on the horizon, and everyone was gearing up for the home stretch. Olivia sat silently at the table, picking absentmindedly at her toasted sesame bagel. It had been five days since the fundraiser in New York City and nothing had changed. Whether that was good or bad, Olivia didn't know. She did know that she hadn't thought of him any less, and he was just as much part of her thoughts as before. It seemed stupid to think that they had a few months left to go before the campaign was over, but she felt like she was running out of time. _To do what exactly? _She chided herself. It had been two weeks since their encounter in Georgia and it seemed like so long ago.

"So what do you think, should we let them Olivia? Olivia?"

Olivia jumped to attention to see Mellie waving a hand in front of her.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Jeanine cleared her throat, "The press keeps asking us to open the doors on fundraising events. They want an inside look at the one of on the twenty-third in D.C."

"Now would it be best to hold off on answering them? Since you're not going to be back from Iowa then right?" Cyrus offered.

Olivia pushed away her bagel, "No, I'll call the press. I'll be here."**  
**

Cyrus looked up at her, confused. "But I thought you said you were going out to Ohio and Iowa to implement whatever changes it was that you were going on about?"

"I did," Olivia hesitated, "but I've decided not to go anymore.

Olivia looked down at the table, acutely aware of Fitz's eyes on her. But she kept her eyes down and avoided looking at him. Somehow, she had convinced herself that it didn't make any sense to leave now when she could just send someone else in her place.**  
**

"That's excellent then," Mellie said happily. "Now you can stick around. We can't have you leave us out here, can we?"

"Okay, whatever," Cyrus said lightly. "So where do we go from here? What was that town hall online forum thing you were telling me about last Tuesday?"

"Oh yes, the online town hall forum. I think it's a great idea. And it would really work."

"Oh that's a brilliant idea, Liv," Mellie agreed, nodding.

"And when did you want to do that again?" Cyrus asked.

"I wanted it for around the end of April. The twenty-fifth?" Olivia asked aloud.

"No," Fitz said sharply, "we can't do that."

"Did we have something else that day?" Cyrus asked.

"No, it's Gerry's and Mellie's birthday that day. Us and the kids are heading out to Palo Alto."

"Oh," Olivia faltered.

Mellie beamed at her, and Fitz looked down at his tie.

Olivia quickly caught herself, "Okay that's not a problem actually. We can move it to the next night or two days later if that works."

"Good, perfect. Write that down Jeanine," Cyrus said brusquely, hardly noticing a missed beat. "Then there's this guy who keeps calling about donating. Very rich, very self-made."**  
**

"And who is this guy?" Olivia asked.

"Hollis Doyle."

"And what does he want with us again?"

"No idea."

"Okay well I'll vet him. Everyone needs to be vetted, and I mean everyone who's even uttered the name 'Grant'. So Jeanine, find me an open time slot for Thursday and I'll phone conference him."

"Now what about the Situation Room?" Cyrus asked.

"I have a lot of talking points for that. But I want to lead in with what he's been doing since Super Tuesday. What do you think Governor?" Olivia asked Fitz.

"I think…I think I just chose Sally as my running mate," Fitz answered simply.

Complete silence fell at the table as everyone turned to look at him.

"Who?"Cyrus asked quietly, leaning forward with raised, dubious eyebrows as though hoping he had heard incorrectly.

"Sally, I called her twenty minutes ago and asked her to be my veep. And she accepted."

Cyrus looked around at the table, eyebrows raised still higher, and married with a look of confusion.

"Sally _Langston_, sir?"

"Is there another Sally I don't know about?" Fitz asked jokingly.**  
**

"She's a right-wing nut job!" Cyrus boomed after a long moment's pause.

"You didn't? You can't be serious Fitz," Mellie laughed nervously, "you and her couldn't be more different. I mean I know we're all on the same party but Sally is…Sally."

"She got up at a Texas rally and told everyone that you flip-flopped on a taxpayer protection pledge!" Cyrus exclaimed.

"Actually, that was true," Jeanine chimed in, unhelpfully. "In 2007, Governor Grant refused to sign one. It was fact checked,"

Cyrus threw her an angry look before turning back to Fitz and waving his hands impatiently, "No, no, no! Wrong, wrong. Sally Langston has yet to wrap her head around evolution. Evolution, Governor! I can have Harriett draft you a list of eligible candidates who are – I can assure you – smarter than a fifth grader."**  
**

"I don't think it's the ideal choice. I agree with Cyrus, we could certainly find someone better, right honey? It's not too late to call Sally and rescind, I'm sure. I just really don't think it's your best idea," Mellie said with gentle remonstrance.

"And I think it's ridiculous, but that's just my opinion," Cyrus shrugged exasperatedly, "but who am I really?"**  
**

"I think it's brilliant," Olivia said firmly.

Everyone at the table turned to look at her. Mellie's mouth dropped open and Cyrus's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his forehead. Fitz simply tilted his head to the side and looked at her.

"Olivia?" Cyrus began bracingly.

"It's brilliant," she repeated. "Sally has a core following, her favorability ratings are at forty-six percent and are at a constant medium to high with her audience. She's relentless – which we've seen of course – and she is a great solution to your struggle with women voters. Now, not only is she out of your way in the female demographic**, **but best of all, you have a one hundred percent clear shot at the Republican nomination, speaking strictly off the record, of course."

Fitz smiled at Olivia, who smiled back. Mellie cleared her throat, and Olivia looked away, hoping the warmth on her face wasn't obvious.

"You really think this a go?" Cyrus asked her.

"I absolutely think it's a go," Olivia said confidently.**  
**

Cyrus rolled his eyes up at the ceiling and muttered something inaudible before sticking his hand out to Fitz.

"Then congratulations Governor, on your new vice presidential choice.

"Good. Thank you Cy," Fitz said loudly, shaking Cyrus's hand triumphantly. "So now that we're all on the same page, let's move on shall we?"

x X x

Olivia closed down her computer. It was almost midnight and she had been sitting alone at the conference table working on final edits of a commercial, but her eyes were starting to burn. Olivia packed up her things to leave, and on her way out to call a cab, she saw a dim light coming from inside the main office. She walked closer and saw through the door that Fitz was inside, sitting down alone, and scribbling something on paper.

Olivia took in a deep breath and knocked.

"Yeah?" Fitz called from inside.

She pushed the door open slowly, and peeked in. Fitz didn't look up, but kept staring down at his paper, writing something then crossing it out. Olivia hung in the doorway for a moment.

"Hi," she said quietly.

Fitz looked up, surprised.

"Olivia," he said smiling tiredly.

"You look busy, I don't want to disturb you."

"No, no. Never. Come in, I just didn't know you were still here. I thought I was alone."

Olivia stepped inside and closed the door behind her, "I didn't think I would be here this late either."

"I was actually just getting off the phone with the answering machine of the Chicago headquarters. Did you know that the Chicago River is the only one in the world that floats backwards?"

"Actually, I did know that."

"Well look at you," Fitz leaned back into his chair and grinned. "I guess _you_ are smarter than a fifth grader," he teased.

"Ha ha," Olivia smiled. She sat on the edge of his desk and tried her hardest to keep her eyes from lingering on him. "So congratulations again. On Sally, I mean."

"Oh, right. Thank you. Even though everyone was ready to fight me for it," Fitz ran a tired hand through his hair.

"They'll come around," Olivia said reassuringly, "but I have to be honest. They weren't _totally _wrong – you guys haven't met eye to eye on a few things. You're going to work with her to get her to work with you."

Fitz looked at her and let out a relieved laugh. He got up from the chair and sat down on the edge of his desk next to her. The sleeve of his shirt brushed against the bare skin of it her wrist and all of her insides seemed to lurch forward.

"I am so glad to hear you say that," he said. "Because I was worried about that too. Do you think she'll come around?"

Olivia hesitated,** "**I think Sally is very firm in her beliefs. _But,_ I also think that she's a team player and ultimately believes in a strong united front. So that will _definitely_ work in your favor – if nothing else."

Fitz raised an eyebrow, impressed, "Very diplomatic answer."

Fitz grinned. He looked at the wall across from them and then looked at his watch.

"Well," he yawned, "I should get going. And you should too."

"Oh right," Olivia muttered, disappointed.

Fitz stood up and reached for his jacket. He said something to hear but she didn't hear – she was too distracted by the fact that he was getting ready to leave.

"What?" she asked faintly.

"For a cab. I don't want you out there alone."

Olivia nodded and watched Fitz pack away his things. She drummed her fingers on the edge of his desk anxiously. She was stuck yet again, in the midst of a battle of her own wills. Fitz walked past her. _Do it…just do it…_.

"Wait," she blurted out abruptly, catching onto his wrist.

Fitz stopped and Olivia stood up and faced him. He was standing so close to her now that she almost wanted to back out, but she couldn't – she had opened everything back up, and it was now or never. She leaned forward and kissed him. Their lips had barely touched before her heart kicked into overdrive – hammering away at her ribcage. She brought her hands up to his shoulders and relished in the moment – it had been way too long. But almost as quickly as she had leaned in, Fitz took hold of her arms and pulled them off his shoulders. He stared at her, eyes wide and disbelieving, and held her at arm's length.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hoarse and scratched.**  
**

Olivia blinked at him – caught off guard. His eyes were darting all her over her face – he looked confused and…uneasy? _Does he…is he really done with this?_ She thought to herself. A nauseous panic rolled itself over in her stomach, and her heart was still pounding so hard that it was starting to give her a headache. She looked away at the wall behind him and moved out of his grasp – feeling embarrassed and stupid.

"Nothing," she said stiffly, "I don't know. Forget it."

She stepped backwards and made her way towards the door, but not before Fitz caught her loosely by her hip and pulled her back in. The tips of his fingers clung onto her waist.

"No, listen to me," Fitz said, "is this what you want to do?"

Olivia looked up at him. His eyes pierced into hers.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Is it really?" he asked again.

He wrapped his fingers around her waist so that they settled at the base of her spine. He wasn't holding on tightly, but Olivia couldn't have moved if she tried – she was simply frozen to the spot, stilled by his touch. She swallowed and nodded in response.**  
**

"Say it. Tell me," he urged.

"I want you," she said, louder this time.

To her surprise, Fitz let go of her completely and stepped back. She stared at him, baffled. She waited for him to say something back, to reach for her again; to do something. But he didn't. Instead, he just looked at her. The two of them stood in silence for a moment and then Olivia couldn't take it anymore. She stepped forward, pulled his arms back around her waist and she kissed him, and finally Fitz kissed her back. His tongue and mouth claimed hers, and she leaned into his kiss – aggressively and intensely pushing her tongue around his, savoring his taste. She brought her hands up to his face and everything she had felt two weeks ago was coming back to her – the same swooping sense at the bottom of her stomach, the feel of the curls of his hair and the slight dip in the back of his neck, the thousands of goose bumps that cropped up all along her sensitive skin…. And like always when she was with him, everything else around her was forgotten. The office had dissolved into nothingness; she could only feel his hands on her waist, and she could only hear her own blood thrumming in her veins – catching like rapid fire and hurtling up to her chest.

Olivia moaned into his shoulder, and then in seconds, was lying on her back on top of the desk – atop all the papers and Post-It notes. Something fell to the floor with a loud clatter but neither of them stopped to look. Time had suspended itself just for them, it seemed. Fitz stepped between her knees and for a moment, he didn't do anything. Above the heaving of her own chest, Olivia could see him standing there. And then she felt his hands travel up and underneath her cotton blouse, across her rib cage to her back, and then with adroit fingers, she felt the instant freeness as he unhooked her bra. Fitz leaned over her and kissed her; under the pressure of his erection against her stomach, Olivia's entire body jolted with a quick tremor. She squirmed underneath him and pushed her hips into his, silently begging him to come closer. She had protested and fought, but everything she had so adamantly argued days before was drowned out by the kisses Fitz was planting just below her jaw, and her neck, and her shoulder…. She had walked so far into this, and he had gotten so deep under her skin that there just wasn't enough space in her mind, or her heart, to care. Her willpower had run its course – _and so be it_, she thought. Suddenly, Fitz pulled away and propped himself up. He looked down at her, and Olivia stared back, completely rigid. Fitz ran his thumb over her lower lip, down her chin and her sternum, before stopping just between her breasts.

"What?" she breathed.

"You. You are my sweet baby," he whispered.

He lowered himself back onto her, and exhaled deeply into her neck. As Fitz's fingers quickly worked the buttons of her pants, Olivia pulled her shirt up and off – and then tossed it, and all caution, aside.

"_they__ slipped briskly into an intimacy__ from which they never recovered." – f. scott fitzgerald. _

**I have never read "This Side of Paradise", but I came across that F. Scott Fitzgerald quotation and I just immediately thought of these two. Love 'em! So, I'm really sorry for the long wait between updates you guys. Between finals, a family emergency, and that crazy good Scandal episode last week, it was tough to get writing again. I don't know if this happens to anyone else, but after an episode of Scandal, I'm either too sad or too happy to even think about my own story. Something is wrong with me, ha! Anyway – so FINALLY, Olitz forever! So...what did you guys think of this chapter? I had it planned from the beginning that Olivia would be the final initiator. It just seemed to make sense because she was so against it in the first place (rightfully so), and since I don't think Fitz tries to make her do anything she doesn't want to do, she would have to be the one to give the green light. Bad Olivia, very bad – hehe. I am actually really sad to have to end this story because writing about them on the campaign trail is all kinds of fun. I know I said this would only be six chapters but I have too much fun writing about their campaign trail, that I spent some time playing around with the idea of keeping this story going. If any of you guys are interested in this continuing – let me know down below! Or if you think it's fine the way it is, that's good too, haha.  
**


	7. Can't Get It Out of My Head

**So after many weeks of deliberation, I've decided to turn this one-shot into a full story. Scandal is after all, gone until September, so we all need something to keep us going. Because this takes place during the campaign trail, I struggled with keeping Defiance vs. not keeping Defiance. That storyline is so married to the actual show, that it would be hard to work around and without it, considering all of its related story lines. But I decided, in the end, to keep it in and move through their campaign trail beyond what the show has shown us. I will expand upon some scenes of the campaign that we got to see, while also going beyond them and writing out how I imagine the ones we didn't get to see. I hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too long and that you're all still interested. This story picks up again two months later, so enjoy! :D**

_The heat of the room, locked in by the fastened door and closed windows, had finally gotten to them. Fitz lay quietly, gently resting his weight on Olivia. He breathed steadily and deeply with his face buried into the crevice between her arm and ribcage. After a moment, Fitz pushed himself off of her and stood between her thighs. Olivia lay motionless on her back. She stared up at the ceiling fan, intensely aware of the rub of his denim against the inside of her knees and the damp slickness from his chest on her own naked stomach. It felt strangely like something misplaced; she had gotten so used to the pressure of Fitz's body weighing down on top of her skin that lying there on her own felt odd and awkward. Olivia took a deep breath, sat up on the edge of the desk and picked up her bra by the computer keyboard. She hooked it behind her back absentmindedly and then reached for her shirt, which was lying on the floor near the wheels of the desk chair. _

_"Hey," Fitz said quietly._

_Olivia pushed her bangs out of her eyes and looked up at him, "What?"_

_Her insides did quadruple backflips. She felt incredibly nervous and she didn't know why. Maybe it was because she – they – had slipped back into…whatever relationship the two of them had__**.**__ Or maybe it was because she was sitting at the edge of a desk in the middle of the campaign headquarters for a presidential candidate, pants-less, shirtless, and up until only recently, braless. Fitz watched her wordlessly while he buttoned and buckled his pants. Then he smiled a lazy, effortless smile – one that only decided to show up on one half of his mouth. _

_"What are you thinking about?" he asked her finally. _

_"Nothing," Olivia answered immediately. _

_That was entirely false. She was thinking of his fingers unhooking her bra…the hiss and moan of his breath in her ear…the yearning push of her tongue past his lips…. She looked down at her watch – 1:10AM. They had been in the office for a little over an hour – an hour of frenzied and hungry touching and grasping and kissing and undressing. Fitz reached out and took her shirt out of her hands._

_"What's wrong? Are you already ready to leave me?" He was still grinning._

_He opened up the collar of her shirt so that it slipped quickly and comfortably over her head. _

_"We have a plane to catch at six," Olivia remarked warningly, shoving her arms through her blouse. _

_She hopped off the edge of the desk and pulled on her pants. Without asking, Fitz zipped and buttoned them for her. She watched his fingers fly quickly and lightly over the crotch of her linen, and although it didn't take any more than five seconds, it was enough to provoke a carnal yen up and down the length of her body. Olivia bit at the corner of her lip and slipped her hands under his arms and inside the back pockets of his jeans, pressing her face into his shoulder. She didn't want to leave. _

_"And? What does that mean? You want to go again?" Fitz asked teasingly. His voice was low and flirtatiously nonchalant. _

_Olivia smiled into his shoulder. "And then what will our excuse be when we miss the plane?" she asked. _

_Fitz put his hands on her shoulders and leaned back to face her. He cocked his head to the side and grinned salaciously, "So you expect us to take the whole five hours? Hmm, I like the way you're thinking." _

_Olivia laughed out loud. Fitz squeezed her shoulders playfully and kept his eyes on her. The two of them stood like that for a minute, studying each other's faces in silence. Olivia's eyes skimmed over his Adam's apple and up to his mouth. She noticed he was no longer grinning. _

_"Olivia," Fitz began._

_"Yes?"_

_"I love you. And I know this isn't easy for us, but I'm sure that's something that will never go away."_

_Olivia didn't say anything back. The moment was too fragile to break. Instead, she leaned forward into his arms and let out a deep breath, letting her body mold back into his. But she realized that she perhaps was nervous because she was starting to feel the same way…._

x X x

**_Two Months Later – Tuesday, May 27 2010: Des Moines, Iowa _**

There was a light and rapid knock on the other side of the wooden door. A second later, Jeanine poked her head inside

"Mr. Beene. He's here," she said.

"Send him in please Jeanine," Cyrus beckoned with a wave of his hand.

Cyrus and Olivia were sitting at a long wooden table in the Davenport meeting room of the Des Moines Marriott Downtown. The campaign had taken up temporary residence in Iowa on its journey towards the west coast. Three days ago, eager oil tycoon Hollis Doyle had called numerous times asking for a sit-down, in-person meeting. Olivia had finally arranged for one, and he had enthusiastically agreed to fly in from Texas to meet her in Iowa**. **The door to the meeting room opened again and this time, a man – short with thinning blond hair, and a boyish grin on his face – walked into the room outfitted in a dark blue suit and a thin brown briefcase tucked smartly under his arm.

"Good afternoon, ya'll. Good afternoon," Hollis greeted them jovially.

Cyrus stood up and Olivia followed suit.

"Hollis M. Doyle," Hollis stuck out his hand to Cyrus.

"Cyrus Beene, campaign manager," Cyrus shook Hollis's hand. "And this is –,"

"Olivia Pope, Communications Director," Olivia introduced herself.

"Well, have a seat then Mr. Doyle," Cyrus said.

"Please," Hollis laughed and held up a hand, "call me Hollis. So then, _you_ must be the Olivia I had the pleasure of speaking with a week ago?"

The same Southern twang she had heard on the phone was there; it coated every word that fell out of Hollis's mouth. Olivia shook his hand.

"The very same."

"Wonderful," Hollis clapped his hands together, "Well good, good, we're all here. I have been as busy as a stump-tailed cow in fly time and I haven't been to Boston in seven years if you can believe it, so I had to stop by and fix my hankerin' for a New England clam chowder. Hit the spot, hit the damn spot," Hollis patted his stomach appreciatively.

He seated himself across from Cyrus and looked at them both expectantly, "So enough about my satiated gut. Let's talk business."

"You currently reside in Texas?" Olivia asked, looking at the notes she had printed on Hollis.

"Born and raised - where everything is bigger, and the bigger the better," Hollis confirmed with a proud grin.

"And you own Doyle Energy…" Olivia went on.

"That I do," Hollis nodded. "Eleven years this past Wednesday.

"So what can we do for you Hollis?" she asked him matter-of-factly.

"Well, it's not what you can do for me but what I can do for you. For the Grant campaign that is. Speaking of, where is he? The big man? Fitzgerald Grant the third?" Hollis asked, looking around as though expecting Fitz to pop out from underneath the desk.

"He's in Utah," Olivia answered automatically.

"Visiting charter schools and small businesses. He'll be back Thursday," Cyrus finished for her.

"Hm, well that is a damn shame because I was really looking forward to meeting him today," Hollis muttered; his forehead was crowded with lines of disappointment.

Olivia looked down at the grains of the wood and drifted out of the conversation…. Fitz had left early Sunday morning for Salt Lake City. She had been up late packing for Iowa when he showed up to her hotel room door. They talked for a while – it had seemed too short – and then he left to catch a private plane. A long and loud throat clearing from across the table broke Olivia out of her thoughts. She looked up and Hollis was deep in conversation with Cyrus.

"…been a Grant fan for six years, ever since he was governor of California. I'm as loyal as they come, so you don't have to worry about that. And I knew there was no way in hell Senator Sally Langston was going to get any further. I'll be the first one to say it - that entire campaign didn't know whether to check their ass or scratch their watch" Hollis laughed genially. "But I digress. All I'm saying is, I'm here to offer my support."

"Great," Cyrus nodded, "and how do you want to do that?"

"Well. Simply put, I'd like to help finance it," Hollis shrugged.

"Even greater!" Cyrus grinned. He grabbed a nearby pen and pressed its ballpoint tip to the face of his legal pad, "and how much did you want to contribute?"

"Five hundred. And fifty-five. Thousand dollars," Hollis proclaimed. He emphasized each word with raised eyebrows and a pointed finger.

Olivia turned to look at Cyrus, who stared back at Hollis – dumbfounded, pen poised in midair.

"That's a very generous offer Mr. Doyle but the –,"

"Ah ah," Hollis smirked and held up his hand again.

Olivia smiled graciously and leaned forward, "But the individual limit for a presidential campaign contribution in a general election is still two thousand six hundred. We run a clean campaign and we'd like to keep it that way."

"_Exceptionally clean_," Cyrus verified. "Fitzgerald Grant may as well be bald and have a picture of himself on a bottle of cleaning fluid."

"I know, I know. I've read all about FEC and PAC and XYZ – _but_…my thing is, I'd like to see Fitzgerald Grant win. And if anyone wants a good campaign, there's no 'if', 'ands', or 'buts' about it – they're gonna need money. And if I can help with that, then why not? And besides, it's not just me."

Hollis reached under the lapel of his dark blue jacket and from the inside breast pocket, pulled out three folded pieces of tawny-colored business paper. He unfolded them each carefully and straightened them out face-up on the dark mahogany.

"Six hundred and ninety-eight signatures of donor donations – the highest one coming from myself of course," he chuckled good-naturedly. "But there you go – six hundred and ninety-eight Doyle Energy executive members, branch and outsourced employees, families of employees, friends of employees, et cetera, et cetera. Here, have a look see."

He pushed the sheets of paper across the table towards Olivia and Cyrus.

Olivia stared at the long list of tiny printed electronic signatures. "Still…five hundred thousand is a lot," she remarked thoughtfully, "why is Doyle Energy so interested in the campaign now? Fitz formally announced his candidacy a year ago in March."

Hollis eyed Olivia curiously for a moment and then grinned, "You ask good questions Olivia. I like that. You remind me of Carlota, my second ex-wife. But, like I said – I've always been a Grant fan ever since he signed AB 2953 in California. It certainly made purchasing my Foster City home a little easier."

Hollis shifted his glance back and forth between the two of them. Then, as though sensing that they weren't convinced, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together seriously.

"Look, I've got two weekend custodian's signatures shy of seven hundred people donating what must be a Georgetown condo to this campaign. And every last one of them is more spotless than the toe of my boot. Don't look at these signatures as money…look at them as television ads, a website revamp, leather couches for headquarters."

Olivia looked over at Cyrus again, who was biting at his fingernails. Hollis cleared his throat.

"So what do you ya'll cats think?" He prompted, trying not to sound impatient.

Cyrus looked over at Olivia, who didn't say anything back. Hollis seemed unusually determined to donate and she wasn't entirely sold, but as campaign manager, Cyrus had the final decision. Cyrus rolled his eyes to the ceiling, let out a long and deep breath and then swiveled around in his chair.

"Jeanine!" he yelled, "Come in here for a minute."

He turned back to Hollis and collected the three sheets of paper, "I'll take these. We're going to have to look it over with our fundraising department, and cross-reference the names, but I think it will work."

"Excellent. Just brilliant," Hollis beamed, rubbing his hands together, "So which book of checks should I use? Puppies or sailboats?"

x X x

Later that night, Olivia sat at the top of her hotel bed, dressed in a complimentary linen robe, with a bag of vending machine trail mix and a draft of Thursday's address in Nebraska on her lap. The clock had only struck eleven at night three minutes ago, but she was exhausted. The past two months on the campaign trail had been almost unfathomably intense. Exactly a month and a week ago, Fitz had been formally announced as Republican presidential nominee and with that, everything had changed. Sally Langston was now firmly tucked under the Grant campaign wing, Governor Samuel Reston from Maryland was the new opponent, and the campaign traveled the nation back and forth and up and down as different states became more and more significant. And now, every minute was spent preparing for the only thing that mattered: November. It was an exhausting and demanding change that required much more for everyone involved. Sleep was an alien concept to Olivia, and coffee was always the meal of choice.

And then there was Fitz. Since the night in the Oregon headquarters office two months ago, things had been different. Neither she nor Fitz had changed anything about their behavior towards each other in front of everyone else. But when they were alone – which were scarce and fleeting moments grabbed up at random – they couldn't stay away from, nor off of, each other: they found each other in hallways, they lingered at the end of conferences, and they seated themselves on the campaign and buses and planes earlier than everyone else. The secrecy of it all hadn't changed, but it had somehow faded to the back. It was a negligible afterthought; an intrusive element in their relationship best worked around but ultimately, unacknowledged. It seemed slightly bittersweet, but Olivia had slipped so deep underneath the two of them that it seemed unreal. It was good enough that she could put aside who he was and where they were. To her, when she was with him – she was with him; he wasn't a candidate, he wasn't married, he was just there, and she was happy. He was unequivocally kind and good and optimistic in a world where the world-weary and cynical seemed a population large enough to wrap the Earth a dozen times over. And yet, there was a quality of hesitation; a falter and uncertainty that marked his step every so often – it was something Olivia couldn't quite figure out yet.

A loud vibration to her left made Olivia jump. Her cell phone was buzzing precariously close to the edge of her nightstand.

"Hello?" Olivia answered.

"They're legit," Cyrus's voice came through from the other end.

"What's legit?" Olivia asked, capping her pen.

"The Doyle Energy donation. Every last signature. From Hollis himself down to a Bryan and Theresa Erickson."

"Wow," Olivia switched the phone to her other ear and got up out of bed. "So that's a good five hundred and fifty-five thousand into the campaign."

"How many television advertisements is that?"

"Television advertising can take up a good four-hundred million," Olivia laughed.

"Oh," Cyrus hesitated.

"That's why we like online platforms better – they're cheaper."

A loud knock sounded on the door. Olivia turned around to check the hotel alarm clock – 11:14PM. She tightened the belt on her robe, crossed the room, and looked through the peephole. The view was characteristically distorted, but she could see just fine: Fitz was standing outside. Olivia's heart lurched forward.

"Cyrus, I need to hang up now," she said quickly.

"Nine o' clock tomorrow morning. Same room!" Cyrus yelled.

Olivia hung up on the phone and took a deep breath. She gnawed at her lips in an attempt to bite back a smile, and then she opened the door. Before her, Fitz stood on the threshold.

"Hi," he said, with a lazy grin.

"Hi," she whispered back.

** So…what'd you guys think? We've met Hollis and there's lots more to come (obviously, haha). Even though we do know what happens and it's not much of a surprise, it's nice to be able to write in between the show and play out my imagination. There are so many scenes that I have would loved to have been longer! I recommend watching YouTube clips (or entire episodes!) of all the flashbacks (1x06, 2x08, 2x11) since I gather a lot of information and sequencing from them. Also, those episodes are just pretty freakin' great and it can help you get a better sense of this story and what happened in the show before or after a particular chapter of mine. So, let me know what you guys are thinking. Until next time :)**


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